


File Down the Broken Edges

by forthegreatergood



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegreatergood/pseuds/forthegreatergood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony trips one of Doom’s new bioweapons and winds up with a lungful of sex pollen.  </p><p>The cure?  Sex with Steve.  </p><p>The problem?  They don’t get along, have problems using their words, and are in no way prepared to deal with having sex with each other.  And that’s on a <i>good</i> day.</p><hr/><p>“Tony?  How many fingers am I holding up?”</p><p>“Four fingers, one thumb, trick question.” Tony shook himself, took a careful breath, and sat up. “What just happened?”</p><p>Steve let himself relax slightly.  He didn’t figure Doom for the kind of enemy to rig up harmless traps to keep unauthorized personnel out of his depots, but they had time for the medics to arrive.  His fear started to dissipate, then fractured into a messy tangle of irritation and concern.  They weren’t out of the woods until the medics and the decontamination teams figured out what they’d tripped back there and declared it benign, but so far it looked as if Tony’s luck had held.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he said, clapping Tony on the shoulder. “Nobody kissed you.”</p><p>“Oh?” he asked, his eyes too bright now, practically glittering. “Well, <i>that’s</i> no good.”</p><p><i>See Chapter One’s beginning notes for dubcon warning/description</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All characters property of Marvel.
> 
> Not beta-read. Please post any noticed errors in the comments, and they'll get fixed.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Notes on the dubcon: Tony gets hit with sex pollen; Steve doesn’t. They’re both into the actual sex, but Tony’s definitely under the influence. Nobody gets hurt/injured/seriously traumatized, but Tony winds up being a little less careful with Steve than he intended to be and has a massive guilt-trip about it. Steve’s skittish about the encounter both pre- and post-sex because he’s aware of Tony’s compromised state and worried about Tony’s ability to handle it after the pollen wears off. They have fully-consensual, sober sex later, after they’ve worked out their issues over the pollen-induced sex.

Steve sighed and looked around the warehouse. Based on SHIELD’s alert and Coulson’s briefing, they’d expected a few crates of energy weapon prototypes. Things they didn’t want making it into the wild, but nothing that should have justified the level of resistance they’d actually encountered. When they’d found the experimental powersuit in with the weapons, that had been one explanation. He shifted uneasily, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to it.

Tony’s voice came over the comm. “Loosen up, Cap. You get any more tense, the medics are going to diagnose you with lockjaw.”

“Can the chatter, Stark. We’re not off the field yet,” Steve said firmly. Tony didn’t bother killing his mic until halfway through his muttered, invective-laden rebuttal. He grimaced. Ordinarily, he’d at least try to let it go, but there was something fishy about the whole situation. It wasn’t like Coulson to have bad intel about something like this; either Doom had upgraded the sale unexpectedly and very quietly, or he’d planned on having the extra equipment shipped out before HYDRA showed up.

“Stay sharp, everybody. This feels wrong,” he warned. “Location, Stark? Your beacon’s out.”

“Are your eyes out, too? I’m red and gold and rocket-powered,” Tony shot back. Steve gritted his teeth.

“I do not have visual contact. Location?” he repeated, trying to keep the aggravation out of his voice.

The fluorescent light glinted dully off the armor as Tony stood and gave an exaggerated wave. Steve started to roll his eyes, then stopped himself. As tempting as it was to give back the same as he was getting, it wasn’t going to help, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t started it. Not that he hadn’t put a lot more effort into _stopping_ it in the past six months, but that was one thing that all fights, from petty squabbles to outright wars, had in common: it was loads easier to set the fire than to put it out. 

Steve shook his head. It didn’t help that, while Tony might have been unnecessarily blunt about his own abilities, he’d been unnecessarily blunt _and_ flat wrong about Tony. He’d apologized for it, afterwards, but even if they’d gotten off to a great start, he had a feeling they’d have had a hard time working together smoothly. He spent half the time he was around Stark torn between wanting to strangle him and wanting to shake his hand. With the things he’d said, a simple apology had been too little, too late. 

Red metal gauntlets settled on the lid of an unmarked crate, and the faceplate flipped up to reveal Tony’s smirking countenance. The lingering suspicion crystallized.

“Stark, keep your visor down. We don’t know what’s in these things,” he snapped.

“Relax, Cap. You got to unwrap the last present,” Tony laughed, breaking the locks easily.

“Present? What does that make this, the worst Christmas ever?” Clint demanded.

“Off the comms unless it’s an official communication, Hawk,” Steve sighed.

“He gets that and I get ‘can it’? Easy to see who mom’s favorite is,” Tony said, his smirk getting bigger.

“Damn it, Tony, don’t open--”

The order died in his throat as Tony flipped the top of the crate open, blinked at the contents in confusion for half a second, and then disappeared into a cloud of thick white smoke.

“Gas!” Steve barked into his comm. “Everybody fall back!”

He heard the sharp metallic clatter of Tony going down, took a deep breath, and darted in. He held his breath and closed his eyes when he got close, groping toward Tony’s estimated position and hoping that whatever the gas was, it would wash off. Fleeting thoughts of what chlorine gas could do to a man’s lungs with one or two gasps, what happened to soldiers unlucky enough to get doused in mustard gas, and the burns caused by the unnamed gas HYDRA had started using toward the end of the war raced through his mind. He pushed them back and prayed that JARVIS had lowered the visor as soon as the aerosol was released. 

Steve dragged Tony’s unresisting form up and over his shoulders, hoisted him into a fireman’s carry, and ran. It seemed to take forever with the weight of the suit slowing him down. He opened his eyes once he judged they’d cleared twice the distance of the initial dispersal area, blinking furiously. His skin wasn’t burning, and his eyes weren’t stinging. He didn’t feel anything strange at all, something he was cautiously optimistic about. He didn’t inhale until they’d made it out of the warehouse; he was relieved to see that everyone else had scrambled per orders.

“Widow, I need a medic,” Steve said tightly. “Hawkeye, we need a containment team. JARVIS, I need this visor up.”

“The exposure has resulted in some general but minor physical distress, Captain Rogers,” the AI chirped softly as the faceplate lifted. 

Steve barely registered Clint and Natasha relaying his requests as Tony blinked up at him, his eyes bright but his expression off in some undefinable fashion. He looked simultaneously too focused and a little out of it. Steve had a viscerally uncomfortable echo of the last time Tony had been laid out on the ground, blank-faced and down for the count.

“Tony?” he prompted. Dark eyes locked on his own after a delay that felt like it lasted an eternity. “JARVIS, how are his vitals looking?”

“Blood pressure and heart rate are elevated but within safe parameters, Captain. Blood oxygenation level is satisfactory.”

That was something, at least. Steve held up his hand. “Tony? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four fingers, one thumb, trick question.” Tony shook himself, took a careful breath, and sat up. “What just happened?”

Steve let himself relax ever so slightly. He didn’t figure Doom for the kind of enemy to rig up harmless traps to keep unauthorized personnel out of his depots, but they had time for the medics to arrive. His fear started to dissipate, then fractured into a messy tangle of irritation and concern. They weren’t out of the woods until the medics and the decontamination teams figured out what they’d tripped back there and declared it benign, but so far it looked as if Tony’s luck had held.

“Don’t worry,” Steve said, clapping Tony on the shoulder. “Nobody kissed you.”

“Oh?” he asked, his eyes too bright now, practically glittering. “Well, _that’s_ no good.”

Steve barely had time to register what Tony had said before he was dragging him in for a rough, desperate kiss.

*****

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly. Could you run that past me one more time?” Tony said, his hand white-knuckled around a crumpled report. Steve wondered if Tony even realized he’d done it.

“A weaponized pheromone.” Coulson cleared his throat. “Along the lines of the theorized ‘gay bomb.’”

"The what?" Steve asked.

“A nonlethal boondoggle that probably started out as a crude joke by somebody’s intern and snowballed unexpectedly,” Clint explained, shrugging uncomfortably. "The idea was to dump pheromones on enemy positions that would make the soldiers find each other sexually attractive, wait a few hours for morale and discipline to start crumbling, and then attack."

"That's...well, not _the_ dumbest thing I've ever heard, but pretty far up there," Steve said, shaking his head. "I can't really imagine that working."

"It didn't. I mean, even if it might have proven effective as a tactic, they couldn't get it to work at all, so it was a moot point."

"Clearly somebody got something to work," Tony hissed. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it was still a nonfunctional, never-going-to- _be_ -functional, mothballed pork project. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

"Sorry, Tony. We did notice," Steve said, earning a sharp glare from Tony and a sympathetic look from Coulson. “Okay, Phil. Do you know how you're going to clear it from Tony’s system?”

“We’re working on it,” Phil assured them smoothly. Natasha and Clint’s expressions let Steve know exactly how much stock they put in that statement. He cringed internally.

“You’re kidding me,” Tony snapped, rubbing his face. “You’re not kidding me. Oh my god, you’re not kidding me. You’re telling me that you’re going to try and get around to whipping up a counteragent at some point, using whatever resources aren’t needed elsewhere. That's it. I'm going back to my lab. I'll handle this myself.”

Steve tried not to look too relieved. Once he'd managed to get Tony's tongue out of his mouth and pry him off, Tony had snapped out of it to a certain extent. He'd also thrown himself wholeheartedly into the biggest snit Steve had seen since Fury had casually informed them that Coulson was stable enough for visitors, with the lion's share of his ire directed at Steve this time. Not that Steve had done anything in particular to deserve it, but he also didn't feel up to defending himself or trying to deflect it. His batting average when it came to comforting or soothing one Anthony Edward Stark was frankly abysmal. Tony stomping off to his lab would at least keep Steve out of his direct line of fire for a while. As if following his train of thought, Tony shot him a dark look, all but daring him to voice an opinion. Given that Steve did have marginally more confidence in Tony than in SHIELD's labs, he studiously avoided meeting Tony's eyes and developed an intense interest in the second paragraph of the report they'd all received during the initial debriefing.

"Not to cast aspersions on your brilliance, but I'm not sure now is the time for you to try your hand at pharmacology," Phil pointed out.

"I've been dosed with a Doom-formulated Spanish fly, and you're 'working on' an antidote. I'd say now is the perfect time for me to try my hand at pharmacology," Tony retorted. "Not to cast aspersions on SHIELD's commitment to our comfort, dignity, and safety, but I'd like a better back-up plan than 'cross my fingers and hope it goes away on its own.' That only works with hangovers and the common cold."

"We don't _know_ that it won't, though, if it comes down to it," Clint said. "This is a complete unknown."

"Thanks for the update, Clint," Tony snapped. "I was previously unaware that we’re completely in the dark here."

"I appreciate that you're in a difficult situation, Tony, but this is not helping," Phil told him.

Tony visibly bit back a snarl, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "No, it's not. So. I'm decamping to my lab. Now. Call me if your people come up with anything, and I'll come back. From my lab."

He pushed himself away from the table and got up, every line in his body tense.

"Okay," Phil sighed. "Obviously, call us if you come up with something."

Tony stalked toward the door.

"Captain, I need you to be ready for departure in," Phil paused to check his watch, "half an hour."

"Wait, departure? For where?" Tony demanded, turning on his heel. Steve felt like a deer caught in highbeams of an oncoming car.

"The recon mission I've been scheduled for since yesterday?" he managed. _Anywhere but here,_ he added silently. The look on Tony's face bordered on alarming. He knew that look. Peggy had had that look on her face the first time she’d shot at him.

"Absolutely not," Tony growled.

"Excuse me?" Phil asked.

"Get someone else. Send, I don't know, Clint. Or Natasha. Or Clint _and_ Natasha, for extra homicidal stealth."

"Not your call," Phil grunted.

"Don't care." Tony crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. 

"Uh, Tony? Why are you trying to scrub a mission that doesn't involve you?" Bruce asked gently.

"We just came off a mission. Sending people back out on a mission this quickly is just bad practice."

"But then you turned around and suggested that he send Clint and Nat," Steve said, his brows furrowing.

"So?"

"They were on the same mission as us, Tony."

"Oh. Right. Okay, send Blake and Wise, then." Tony threw his hands in the air. "I'm done discussing this. I'll be in my lab if anyone needs me."

He stormed from the room, leaving everyone trading uncomfortable glances.

"What was that, exactly?" Clint asked.

"Impulse control problems being worse than usual, Barton," Phil said. "Okay, so which one of you is volunteering to keep him from actually injecting himself with anything before it's been vetted?"

Bruce raised his hand. "I'm going to see if I can figure out what that was all about first, though. Stay safe, Steve."

"Thanks, Bruce." Steve waved after him as he jogged off after Tony. 

Bruce didn’t have far to go; he was only halfway down the hall when he caught sight of him. "Hey. Wait up."

"Not really in the mood to talk right now, Bruce," Tony snapped, not slowing down.

"That's great. Do it anyway."

Tony finally, grudgingly, came to a halt and let Bruce catch up to him. He crossed his arms over his stomach and looked lost and cranky.

"You want to tell me why you flipped on Coulson for trying to redeploy Steve?" Bruce asked, falling into step beside him as he headed for the elevators.

"I don't know. I just...." Tony pushed his hair back and shook his head. "We walked into something tougher than we were expecting, and it was a hard fight, and now he wants to just send him right back out into the field? I don't like it. Kneejerk reaction. That's all."

“A hard fight you didn’t even remember Clint and Nat were part of.”

“I blanked. What do you want from me, Bruce?” Tony asked, chafing his arms.

“The truth?” Bruce suggested mildly.

“Look, I just want to get out of here and start running tests. This isn’t exactly pleasant, you know?” Tony glared at the elevators. None of them were heading down. He hit the button and paced a few steps. “I mean, on top of the mortification factor of coming to with Rogers’ slobber all over my face, I’ve got the whole team thinking that I don’t have enough blood circulating outside my dick to keep my brain working. And on top of _that_ , I’m getting muscle and joint pain, hot flashes, and chills. This whole thing is a giant layer cake of suck.”

Tony could feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he hit the button a few more times. He resisted the impulse to touch his face. He swore he could still feel Steve’s lips on his, molten heat pouring through his veins, everything momentarily clicking together like all was right with the world. He mentally added ‘tactile hallucinations’ to the list of symptoms. He flushed. If he’d been sitting next to the supersoldier when Coulson had announced the departure time, Tony didn’t think he could have stopped himself from literally grabbing onto Steve and not letting go. 

If he weren’t feeling so rotten, he’d have to laugh at the stricken look on Rogers’s face. Captain America, the Original Avenger, Terror of the Third Reich, looked like he was about to faint over being kissed by another man. Steve could face down the worst of HYDRA and bravely accept a suicide mission to save the eastern seaboard, but he panicked over a little tongue. Tony found the whole thing darkly funny. Or at least, he told himself, he would, _if_ the tight burn in his muscles wasn’t increasing instead of wearing off. _If_ the elevator would hurry up and fucking open already, before Bruce could marshal his most severe expression of concern and use it to blackmail him back to medical. _If_ he could just get out of here, and back to the comfort of his own lab and his own home, and away from Rogers before he embarrassed himself again.

Bruce’s hand was warm and heavy between his shoulder blades, and Tony realized that he was hunched over, his hands on his knees. He didn’t remember leaning over. Well, that wasn’t good.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You’re not, though.”

“I can see where you might think that, but here’s the thing--”

“Tony, we’re going to medical.” Bruce’s tone brooked no argument.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Bruce, I had open heart surgery in a literal cave in the middle of a fucking desert. I made myself a new heart while I was carting around a car battery to keep myself alive. And I’m still not willing to sign myself over to the tender mercies of a SHIELD medical wing.” Tony leaned against the wall. So much for Doom’s miracle hormone cocktail, he thought. He didn’t even feel horny anymore. He just felt sick.

“Tony?”

Tony choked off a groan at the deep concern in Steve’s voice. Like he needed an audience for this. And shouldn’t Steve have been on a jet heading for enemy territory by now? Or anywhere but standing near enough to touch? The arousal was bubbling back to the surface with particularly bad timing, and if there was anyone Tony would really have preferred to not have hanging around for an encore performance, it was Steve fucking Rogers.

Then he was being scooped up and carried like a child, and it was hard not to just relax against Steve’s chest. Whatever flaws the man had, uncomfortably under-padded pecs were not among them. Tony almost felt like he was melting, and he flushed a deep red. He closed his eyes against the spinning and blurring of their surroundings. Vision problems, he noted. Slight vertigo. He was going to have to come up with something really unpleasant to throw at Doom the next time they ran into him. At least he was reasonably sure Rogers’s opinion of him couldn’t actually _get_ any lower, so this was unlikely to change their relationship much.

“Hang in there, Tony. We’re almost there.” Steve’s voice was in his ear and buzzing through his ribcage and scattering his thoughts. He wanted to tear his hair out. The pain and weakness were passing, his cock was hardening, and of course the transition was when Bruce would wave Captain America over, Tony thought viciously. Now Steve was fretting _and_ thought he was a complete deviant. The way his luck had been running today, what else had he expected?

“Feel free to take a detour,” Tony muttered. “In fact, just loop back and drop me by the elevators. I’m feeling much better.”

“That’s nice. You _look_ like death warmed over,” Phil said from somewhere behind them.

“You’re one to talk,” Tony grunted, his voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder. “Mmm. You’re warm.”

“Just try to stay awake, Tony,” Steve said tightly.

If the walk to medical was tense, the wait while the on-duty CNP ran through the standard diagnostic procedures was even worse. Phil and Bruce hovered as close to Tony as the nurse permitted, and Steve twitched every time one of the monitors’ tones changed. One of the staff doctors had breezed in to double-check the read-outs, assured them that Tony didn’t appear to be in immediate distress, and breezed back out.

“I don’t know. I can’t really account for the rapid deterioration you observed, Dr. Banner,” the CNP said after half an hour. “His vitals are perfectly normal right now. We may know more once his blood-work comes back, but--”

“I feel fine!” Tony said, glaring at them from the bed Steve had deposited him on. “And I can hear you.”

The nurse frowned and turned to him.

“And you look fine. But you didn’t less than five minutes ago, and you’ve been exposed to a compound whose effects are virtually unknown,” she said. “So it would be in your best interests to stay put for just a little while. We’ve fast-tracked your blood-work, and it will be examined by a pair of specialists as soon as it’s ready.” 

She looked him in the eye, trying to cow him into obedience, and Tony heard Steve sigh from across the room.

“Please, Tony. For everybody else if not for yourself. You gave us a pretty bad scare, there.”

Tony swallowed around the odd feeling of comfort in his chest. He didn't remember Steve's voice being so warm. His head was still humming slightly, and he could feel the phantom impression of Steve’s skin on his. "Guess you're not heading off on that mission, then."

"Barton took his slot," Phil said, casually blocking most of the doorway. 

Tony suspected that Phil planned on...well, Phil probably couldn't get away with _tasing_ him in front of the nurse and Bruce, not in the shape he was in right now, but somehow physically restraining him if he tried to leave. Or ordering Rogers to pick him up again. Tony had the mad impulse to test his theory, then recognized it as a bad idea. Of course, he hadn't gotten where he was in life by not acting on bad ideas, had he? He checked himself. When had he gotten so blasé about Steve touching him? Not that he _objected_ to Steve touching him, but the soldier inevitably made it awkward and weird, and he couldn't imagine the current circumstances making it any less so. Steve’s general disapproval of Tony's normal behavior almost couldn't help but get a little more specific now that Tony had been dosed with an experimental aphrodisiac. Especially if he gave in to the temptation to climb Steve like a jungle gym. Tony glowered at him preemptively, as if Steve could tell what he was thinking and was already judging him.

"Why don't you go finish writing up the report, Captain?" Phil suggested. "Bruce and I can handle this from here."

Tony bit his tongue to keep from protesting. 

Steve glanced from him to Phil and back before nodding. "Call me if you need me." 

Tony didn’t bother making any attempt at discretion when Steve left; if he’d been capable of appreciating Rogers’s ass prior inhaling a kilogram of aerosol viagra, he certainly wasn’t going to be able to ignore it now. Phil cleared his throat once the door slid shut behind Steve.

“With you in just one more second,” Tony joked grimly.

“You may want to call Pepper, Tony. Just in case this whole thing gets...out of hand.”

“And I start humping stray throw pillows? Yeah, that had occurred to me. Unfortunately, Pepper’s on the other side of the globe right now. Even if she could ditch immediately, she wouldn’t be stateside for at least another fifteen hours. And she’d sink the company if she ditched these negotiations. The State Department would put out a hit on me if she ditched these negotiations.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it. “And Rhodey’s on a mission. I’m screwed. Or not screwed, as it turns out is now the problem.”

“You and Rhodes?” Phil asked, looking startled. Tony grinned at him, showing his teeth.

“Well, not for a while, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t throw me out of bed for eating crackers, given the current circumstances.”

“We have specialists who could handle it, if we need to call someone else in,” Phil said. “If you’re all right with that, at any rate.”

“I have my pick of SHIELD’s best sex-spies. I should be more excited about this, shouldn’t I?” Tony flopped back onto the bed as dramatically as the monitoring equipment allowed. His skin was starting to feel clammy again. 

“It’s a Plan B, Tony,” Bruce pointed out.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, give me a shot to make my body think I’ve had a marathon orgy that would make Hugh Hefner blush and stick a pin in the plan where I get tag-teamed by people capable of fucking state secrets out of diplomats? I think I’d enjoy that one more when I’m not feeling miserable. I mean, SHIELD does rainchecks, right?”

The nurse frowned. “Blood pressure and body temperature are falling, agent. Not precipitously, but they are dropping.”

“Tony?”

“No argument here,” Tony mumbled. “I’m feeling it.”

Tony pulled the blanket around his shoulders and sat up, only to curl sharply forward as a wave of vertigo struck. He was vaguely aware of the CNP paging the doctor and another nurse, her tone carrying an edge but not quite urgent yet. His joints hurt, his head hurt, his skin hurt, and his balls felt like they were trying to crawl into his chest.

“This is the least sexy I have ever felt without having plowed through a case of tequila first,” Tony groaned. “Just in case anybody’s taking notes on this. Doom’s formula is an epic failure. It has absolutely no future as a club drug.”

“Do we have any idea what’s causing these fluctuations?” Phil asked sharply, his eyes on the doctor. She shook her head.

“There aren’t any correlating factors so far,” she said. “We don’t have enough data, and we don’t know what we’re looking for. Was anyone else exposed, even incidentally? A comparison might be helpful.”

“Rogers was closer than anyone else, but he seemed unaffected,” Phil told her. 

“It’s worth a shot,” the doctor said, nodding. “Right now we’ve got ‘nothing.’ ‘Something’ is almost always better.”

“Bruce, could you please find Steve and get him down to the lab for a blood-draw?”

“Or, hey, you could bring him back here for it,” Tony suggested woozily. “He’s really warm. I could use a two-hundred-forty-pound space heater.”

Phil glanced at the CNP, who shrugged. “If it makes him more comfortable. We can do it here just as quickly as they can do it down the hall.”

“Bruce?”

“On it.”

Tony shivered, and the doctor’s hand felt like fire against his forehead. She frowned at her thermometer’s reading.

“Your core temperature is actually slightly elevated,” she told him. “The drop in blood pressure would account for the differential between that and bloodflow to the skin and extremities, but I’m not seeing a corresponding--”

“Agent Coulson? You needed a blood sample?” Steve asked, poking his head in the door. He caught the doctor’s posture shift. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Interrupt all you like,” Tony grunted. “She was just telling me that nothing makes sense and that my life is the practical joke of an unkind and uncaring universe.”

“I don’t think that’s--”

Tony started peeling the sensors off his skin, and there was a collective rush to get him to stop. Steve laid a hand on Tony’s shoulder as the CNP and doctor tried to keep his hands away from the electrodes.

“Tony, I know you don’t feel well, but this isn’t helping,” Steve said gently. “We still don’t know how dangerous this could get. Please let them do their jobs.” He shot a pleading look at Bruce, trying to get the physicist to back him up.

Bruce took a deep breath and visibly tried to relax as the alarms from the monitors kept sounding. The CNP glanced at him and then at Phil.

“You can step outside until this is sorted if you need to, Bruce,” Phil told him. “I can let you know once everything’s under control.”

Steve started when Tony’s arm snaked out and wrapped around his waist, and he was still gaping down at him when Tony dragged himself a few more inches across the bed and pressed himself against Steve’s chest.

“Uh, Tony?” Steve asked, prying carefully at his hands.

“Shh. You’re warm,” Tony murmured, his mouth half mashed into Steve’s uniform. 

The nurse seized the opportunity to re-attach the electrodes Tony had removed, and the look she gave Steve when he so much as thought about moving was a potent mix of threat and demand. The doctor tilted her head at the monitor.

“Improving across the board,” she said, confused. “Steadily.”

“Tony?” Phil prompted. “Think the doc can get an update?”

“Rogers is warm and smells nice,” Tony managed, his voice muffled. Steve flushed and cautiously started to extricate himself from Tony’s grasp.

“Come on, Stark, you’re gonna be okay,” Steve soothed, unwrapping Tony’s arms. “They need some blood from me, and they need to get a better look at you.”

Tony growled and clung harder, and Bruce’s brows furrowed. Faced with either giving up or possibly injuring him, Steve gave up. He appealed mutely to the nurse, who shrugged as she stuck an extra piece of medical tape across one of the cables to secure it more firmly.

Bruce turned to Phil. “This is going to sound weird, and we definitely don’t have enough data points to even call this a hypothesis, but….”

They waited, and Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“He seems to improve immediately and markedly the second he’s in physical contact with you,” Bruce said quickly, looking at Steve. “Then he troughs again once he’s away from you.”

“I, uh.” Steve made a face and glared down at Tony. “Hands above the waist, mister.”

“What would the mechanism for that even be?” Phil asked, rubbing his chin.

“That’s a question for the biochem guys,” the doctor sighed. “It’s an easy enough idea to test, though. We just wait until he stabilizes, send the captain out of the room, and wait.”

Tony made a disapproving noise and squeezed Steve harder, and Steve grimaced. He started rolling up his sleeve around Tony’s inconveniently-placed bulk and looked from the nurse to the doctor.

“Might as well get the blood you need while we’re waiting,” Steve sighed. “The faster it gets to the lab, the faster you guys get your answers, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony combed his fingers through his hair and glowered at the screen. 

“So all SHIELD’s spooks and all SHIELD’s botnets couldn’t find a single page’s worth of information on this stuff? What, did it come to Doom in a dream? Did I seriously get hit with the Frankenstein of bioweapons?” He sucked at his teeth and then raised his eyebrows at Steve, feeling a sharp prickle of irritation that he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off him anymore. “You get that reference, right?”

“Yes, Tony, Frankenstein was available before World War II broke out,” Steve said blandly, refusing to take the bait. 

Tony took a break from glowering at the screen to glower at Steve instead. He wouldn’t even look at Tony now, and Tony silently cursed himself for the show he’d put on in medical. All right, so he’d been half out of his head, but it was still humiliating to find the episode passing and realize that he was awkwardly groping Steve. And it was still a little difficult to believe that the situation had somehow gotten _worse_. 

Tony could joke about logging some quality time with SHIELD’s best Mata Haris, at least. Not that he actually wanted to _do_ it--the idea was a little weird and off-putting, if he was honest with himself--but at least it wouldn’t have been the guaranteed shame-fest that this had turned into. There was no real way to turn Captain-America-induced erections into a joke. It didn’t help that Steve was sitting there like some kind of marble saint. He hadn’t so much as breathed in an unprofessional way since Bruce’s hypothesis had held up under testing. Tony flushed angrily at the thought of those tests. Once he’d consciously identified the source of his discomfort, it had gotten even harder to make himself let Steve go. He’d been maybe a hair away from begging him not to leave like a lovesick drunk. It was going to be a year before Tony could look him in the eye just from that.

_At least we’re not wrecking a great partnership,_ he thought bitterly. _We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t pack up and move to Alaska after this._

Phil clicked to the next slide. It was even more depressingly sparse than the last one.

“We have what we have, Tony.” Phil grimaced. “We’ve got our best people on this. Given that it’s only been three hours, it’s a miracle we’ve managed to scrape together and analyze that much. Chemical structure, proposed uses, storage and deployment instructions. Aside from that, though, it looks like there’s simply no further intelligence to be found. We’re already far outside the parameters under which the Latverians tested it. None of their accidental exposures or planned test subjects were ever denied access to their partners of choice.” He rubbed his eyes. “We’d have more to work with if it _had_ been intended for full-blown military use. The model they were working off--carefully-targeted sabotage, espionage, and disruption missions--would have been highly effective, but it leaves us without much to go on for a situation like this.”

“So they never, not once, got it into their heads to develop an antidote? If you forgot to wash your hands after handling it, you just checked yourself into an empty broom closet with the nearest tech who turned your crank and hit it until the urge passed?” Tony asked.

“Pretty much,” Phil said flatly. “We wouldn’t even be asking these questions if you’d been dosed with someone else present. We’d have just cordoned off the area for an hour or so and sent you both through diagnostics afterwards. We’d have found all this out during the post-mortem on the mission.”

“Well, that’s a pretty picture,” Tony snarled. Steve had the decency to at least blush at the possibility, and Natasha clicked to the next slide with calm efficiency.

“From what we’ve been able to determine, the crate you broke open was originally destined for the Baxter Building. We’re working with the Fantastic Four--” Tony snorted, and Natasha ignored him. “--to narrow down which of their current projects or holdings Doom might have been after, though of course it’s entirely possible, given his long-standing personal issues with them, that this was only meant to embarrass them and not as part of a larger strategy.”

“So I got _Reed Richards’s_ canister of sex-gas?” Tony sat back and crossed his arms. “This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

Steve cleared his throat and raised his hand, and Tony shot him a poisonous look. All five of them in the room, and Steve Rogers _would_ be the one to raise his hand before asking a question. Steve ignored him, and Tony gritted his teeth. This was turning into a pattern, which he didn't like. What he liked even less was that a tiny part of him was definitely panicking at the fact that Steve _could_ ignore him like that, and be so calm about all of this, and just carry on like everything would be fine. Tony wasn’t sure it was possible for him to hate that part more than he did right now. 

“You mentioned the possibility of administering a series of hormone shots to mimic having, um….” Steve broke off, gesturing vaguely and turning pink.

“Marathon, no-holds-barred sex?” Tony supplied acidly.

“Yes. That. Thank you.” Steve cleared his throat. “Has the biotech crew made any headway there?”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably, and Natasha shook her head.

“They’ve been able to generate a protocol, but it’s based on a highly speculative model. They need to incorporate the new data and flesh out the likely reactions. It’s going to take time before they’ll be able to tell us whether or not it has a chance of working, and more time after that before they can give an accurate assessment of unwanted side-effects,” Phil explained.

“How much time?” Steve asked.

“Another eighteen hours, at least,” Natasha said quietly.

“More like twenty-two to twenty-four,” Bruce added.

“That’s a long time,” Steve said slowly, carefully avoiding looking at Tony.

Tony sat back, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, kind of. Seriously, guys? Twenty-four hours before we’ll even know if you _can_ shoot me up with a synthetic cocktail that _might_ help?”

“We’re aware that it’s less than ideal--” Phil began.

“Save it.” Tony got to his feet. “I’m going to go crunch some of these numbers myself. You,” he pointed imperiously at Steve, “are coming with me so I don’t need a crash cart every five minutes. Anybody else wants to tag along, this sideshow’s officially charging admission.”

“There’s also another option,” Bruce broke in, giving him a disappointed look. 

Tony bristled at it. He felt entitled to be a little bit of a brat, all things considered.

“What other option?” Steve asked, pretending he hadn’t noticed Tony’s minor tantrum.

“A combination of sedatives and painkillers.” Bruce pushed his glasses up. “Medical seemed confident that if they can put the brakes on the feedback loop before the systemic distress starts to cascade, they can keep you reasonably stable. It wouldn’t necessarily be comfortable, and you’d be pretty out of it, but that’s where the, uh, chemical assists come in.”

“You want to keep me doped out of my gourd while you guys get around to finding a solution?”

Bruce frowned at him. “We want to keep you comfortable during the window the techs need to make sure it’s safe.”

“Why don’t we put that one in the ‘maybe’ pile,” Tony bit out, “and in the meantime, I’ll be elsewhere, not drooling into a pillow.”

Steve sighed as Tony stomped out, then spread his hands.

“Keep us posted, please?”

“Of course,” Phil assured him. “Just keep an eye on him. Alert me if his condition worsens, and I’ll arrange transport and get medical prepped.”

“Thanks, Coulson.”

*****

Tony paced the lab like a tiger in a cage. Every minor frustration, from not having JARVIS available to the minor speed differential between his own machines and SHIELD’s computers, had him ready to explode. It was all Steve could do just to keep out of his way. Tony seemed unaware of how he drifted slowly closer as he stalked around the lab, gradually coming into a decaying orbit around Steve’s position. As soon as he registered Steve’s proximity, he’d launch into a new round of snarling and stomp off to the farthest corner of the room on some pretext. 

Steve edged his chair a little farther away as Tony stopped to draw up another series of protein diagrams. His expression promising another outburst soon. If nothing else, Steve was developing an appreciation for Tony’s normal level of cheerful insubordination. Compared to the sullen wreck the aerosol had reduced him to, their normal, constant, low-grade bickering was a cakewalk. Steve wanted to comfort Tony--it was obvious the driving force behind his anger was fear at how out of control he was--but even if he thought it might be welcomed, he had no idea where to begin. He’d managed to build a working relationship and, to one extent or another, a certain personal rapport with almost everyone else. His relationship with Tony was still ninety percent argument, five percent cooperation, and five percent grudging tolerance. It hardly made for a reliable foundation for offering moral support during difficult times.

Tony deleted the diagrams and started moving again. “You know what I don’t get?”

“How the head of an entire country gets so wrapped up in a personal vendetta with a group of private actors that he pulls something like this?” Steve asked wearily. Natasha had filled him in on Doom’s background with Richards and the Storm siblings.

Tony shook his head sharply.

“That, I get. I’ve met them both. Reed’s the sort of guy who just gets right under people’s skin. He doesn’t mean to, usually, but he’s just one of those people. He’s got no ability to pitch to his audience or finesse a crowd. And Doom’s got an ego the size of Mars. I swear his real superpower is being able to take everything personally. Put the two of them together and give Doom even the slightest whiff of a legitimate grievance, and _bam_. Pistols at dawn.” Tony ran his fingers along the bank of monitors as he passed them, and the touchscreens lit up. “Give Doom something real to feel stung over, like that billion-dollar publicly-busted boondoggle and the alleged, also-public seduction of his fiancée? He’s going to be trying to screw them all over until the day he dies.”

“Well, I guess when you put it that way, it makes sense,” Steve scoffed.

“No, it’s still ridiculous. It’s just an explicable sort of ridiculous.” Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other, restless and crabby. “What I don’t get is why he threw his money into something like this instead of just, I don’t know, knock-out gas. The chemical pathways for that sort of thing are well-mapped and thoroughly tested. It’s low-hanging fruit. And it’s not like Latveria’s got the capital to just funnel into useless projects like this. Their national debt’s nothing to sneeze at. There has to be a reason he went with this instead of an anesthetic or a paralytic or something normal.”

Steve rubbed his face. “I’d have thought that was pretty obvious, Tony.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, then,” Tony snapped, rubbing his arms. “Maybe after you rip the veil off that mystery, you can take a crack at how to get these proteins folded to bind to this junk.”

“Is it too cold for you? I can nudge the thermostat up a few--”

“I’m _fine_.” Tony glared at him, and Steve looked down at his hands. 

He hadn’t heard Tony sound this _brittle_ since right after Fury had told them Coulson was dead, and the knot in Steve’s chest tightened a little. It was easy to forget how vulnerable Tony could be. Steve shook his head and shrugged.

“It’s like Clint said earlier. Knock-out gas just leaves everybody passed out on the floor for however long. Something like this affects morale in both an immediate and a long-term way. If you do it on a small scale, you can’t even prove it wasn’t just dereliction of duty without a complicated blood test. If you do it on a large scale, you might have just managed to completely demolish a unit’s cohesion, depending on how their pre-existing interpersonal relationships functioned.”

Tony stared at him for a second before whirling and making a beeline for one of the screens. Steve watched in silence while Tony manipulated the image on it before ultimately discarding it as well. He hadn’t quite realized how graceful and fluid Tony’s motions usually were until they were reduced to tense, choppy bursts of activity. When he was happy and excited about some new idea, he looked almost like a conductor coaxing a symphony out of a skilled orchestra.

“Good thing our pre-existing interpersonal relationship is rock solid, huh?” Tony muttered after a few moments.

“I don’t think it’s going to come to that,” Steve assured him, trying to force a confidence he didn’t feel into his voice. As uncomfortable as Tony’s predicament was making him, it was making Tony a lot worse than uncomfortable. And if he lost any hope of fixing the situation, Steve wasn’t sure how long it was going to be before Tony broke down and did something drastic.

“You a betting man, Cap? Because I’ve got five Benjamins saying SHIELD’s crew just said that so that it’d be the next shift’s problem and not theirs once they blow past their ETA.”

“They’re professionals. They wouldn’t just kick the can down the road like that,” Steve said firmly. “Not to mention, they’ve got Natasha and Bruce and Agent Coulson all looking over their shoulders. It’s enough to keep anybody on task.”

Tony leaned against the workbench, his eyes closed and his expression pinched. Steve frowned and approached him cautiously. Tony didn’t look like he was about to pass out or launch into a rant, but he didn’t look well, either.

“Tony?” he asked.

Tony took a deep breath and opened his eyes, clearly trying to focus on his surroundings.

“Are you okay?” Steve prompted.

“I don’t know. I can’t stop--” Tony broke off and shook his head savagely. His face was drawn, and he was trembling. “My whole body is just _screaming_ at me.”

“Do you need to go back to sickbay?”

Tony glared at him, hunger burning in his eyes, and then lunged forward to close the distance between them.

“I need _this_ ,” he growled, kissing him fiercely. 

Steve swallowed hard and pushed him back, gentle but irresistible. 

“Tony, please. Don’t.” _This isn’t you. You deserve better than this. You have to give them time to work._ “You’re going to be all right.”

“I get that you think they’re going to come up with a magic bullet to make this all go away. They’re not. And,” Tony took a deep, shaky breath, “and resisting this isn’t an option anymore.” 

“Tony--”

He leaned in against Steve’s hands, getting as close as he could, and his fingers knotted compulsively in Steve’s shirt. His eyes were focused on Steve’s chest, on his hands, on anything but his face. “Don’t make me beg, Rogers.”

“Tony, look at me,” Steve snapped. Tony complied reluctantly, his pupils wide and his eyes dark with lust. “Okay. Now, _listen_ to me. I know this is putting you through the wringer. But SHIELD has their best scientists working on an antidote. I need you to take the painkillers Bruce suggested earlier. I need you to give them the twenty-four hours they asked for to look for a way to get you out of this.” He tried to keep his tone steady and reassuring, reaching for that certainty he’d developed during the war. If it could soothe the jitters out of green troops, it might calm Tony down a bit. “If they haven’t found anything by then, we’ll do whatever you want.”

Tony’s grip on his shirt tightened as he processed the statement.

“Twenty-four hours,” he repeated.

“Yes. I need you to give them one day. Just hold out for one day. Give them the time they’ve asked for.”

“And then you’ll--” Tony sounded like he was choking, and Steve relented and stopped pushing him away. Tony practically crumpled against him, winding his arms around Steve’s ribs and resting his forehead against Steve’s chest. Steve seesawed between wanting to ground him and realizing that touching him more than absolutely necessary wasn’t going to make the situation any easier on him. He settled for resting his hands on Tony’s back, lightly as he could, and Tony shivered against him.

“Whatever you want,” Steve repeated.

“Swear it.” Tony’s head snapped back up, and Steve was startled by the feverish look in his eyes and the ferocity of his expression. “Scout’s honor. Captain America’s honor. Coulson’s regulation handbook. Whatever. Something bald eagles will weep over if you break it.”

“You’re my teammate,” Steve said firmly. “You’re part of my squad. You’re in this mess because of something that happened during a battle. I’m not going to leave you in the lurch. I promise.”

Tony inhaled deeply. “Twenty-four hours. Okay. I can do this.”

“You _can_ do this. Everybody’s going to be right here. We’ve got you. The biochemists just need time to work.”

“Stay with me. Like this.” It was a demand, not a request, and Steve shook his head slowly even as Tony’s arms tightened around him.

“That’s a bad idea,” Steve pointed out. “It’s just going to make it harder if I’m near you. Let’s go see Bruce, okay? He’s going to give you something to take the edge off and make the wait more comfortable. You’re part of a team, Tony. That means letting people help, every so often.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Steve, we just need to cover all the bases here,” Natasha said gently. “Please feel free to tell me if you’d prefer to talk to someone you don’t know and won’t be working with in the future.”

“About?” Steve prompted. A faint blush made its way across her cheeks, then faded.

“Do you know what you’re doing here? Is this going to be your first time?” she asked, her eyes on his face.

A million responses crossed his mind. If this had been anyone else, any other situation, he’d have been able to make it clear that it wasn’t anybody else’s business what he’d done, with whom, or how often. Now, suddenly, thanks to Doom’s payload of weapons-grade pheromones, it was. He rubbed his knuckles and tried to get a handle on things.

“No, Natasha, this isn’t going to be my first time.”

“With a man,” she clarified, the faint blush returning.

“No, Natasha, this isn’t going to be my first time,” he repeated, gritting his teeth a little. If she was surprised, she had the decency not to show it. An unpleasant thought crossed his mind. “Oh, hell. Tony...?”

“According to Pepper and Rhodey, he’s fooled around with men before, but it never went far,” she sighed, finally letting a shadow of worry cross her face. “According to Tony, it’s none of our fucking business, and we can both put that in our permanent record and also do something anatomically inadvisable with it.”

“Great.” Steve sat down heavily. “That’s just great. I don’t suppose you’re asking me this because the doctors are making tremendous progress, but you still want all the Is dotted and the Ts crossed?”

“I’m afraid not,” Natasha said softly. “It looks like it’s going to come down to you.”

“I’m not sure I can do this,” he said after a few seconds. “Natasha, this...this wasn’t _right_ to begin with, and it keeps getting less right.”

“I know. But there’s not much of a way around it, Steve. The contingency plans they’re floating come with a risk of brain damage, muscle atrophy, bone density loss, and they’re not sure how it will interact with his circulatory system given that nobody else on the planet has an arc reactor keeping them alive. They might not even be feasible, if the effects of the pheromones fall outside their initial parameters.”

He put his face in his hands. Tony coming out of this anything but still alive and functional and brilliant and in fighting shape was not an option.

“You need a minute, Captain?” she asked.

“Sorry, Tasha. It just feels...” He sat back, groping for words. He knew what it felt like. He just wasn’t sure if it made sense. “It feels like back in the war, after you handed the wounded off to the medics. If they were bad off, there was nothing you could do except hope that the surgeons could do something, but even when you knew they couldn’t, that it would be a miracle if they could...it was out of your hands. I know Tony’s not in as much trouble as if he’d taken a couple of rounds to the gut in pit of half-frozen mud behind enemy lines. He’s not even physically injured, when you get right down to it. But...it’s like there’s not an outcome where he’s going to be okay, and we can’t do anything about it one way or another.”

“We’ll worry about that once he’s out of physical danger,” she said simply. “One step at a time, Cap.” She straightened her shoulders. “Do you think you can do this? There are drugs the doctors could give you, if you’re not sure you can...perform under the circumstances. And one of the nurses can brief you about modern safe sex practices.”

Steve blushed to his roots and wished, for a moment, that he’d taken Natasha up on her offer of handing the discussion off to someone he’d never have to see again. Then again, she was a friend, after a fashion. He trusted her. In certain ways, it made it easier.

“It’s already covered. It was one of the sessions in the re-culturation program Coulson set up, after Manhattan.” He coughed. “It was extremely, um, _thorough_. But I didn’t think that the modern drugs for, uh, performance issues worked like that.”

She shook her head. “They don’t. This is one of the early precursors, which does. But it’s there, if you need it.”

“I think what I need most right now is a suspension of Doom’s diplomatic immunity for a few hours.”

“Maybe we can put that on the Christmas list,” she said, trying for a smile and not quite making it. “In the meantime, why don’t you try to get some sleep? We need you ready to go in six hours, and you’ve been on your feet since this happened.”

Steve closed his eyes. Sleep? With this hanging over them? It seemed like a bad joke. But she was right. He needed to be ready for whatever Tony’s condition could throw at them.

“I’ll try,” he promised.

Natasha nodded, squeezed his shoulder, and retreated without being too hasty about it. She was taking the situation with Tony more or less in stride, but she had Clint to worry about, too. This was dredging up some of the lingering problems from his time under the Tesseract’s influence, issues he’d tried to put behind him. He was handling it, but not well, and with Phil coordinating Tony’s treatment, the containment and safe disposal of the rest of the weapons they’d retrieved from Doom’s warehouse, and the continuing hunt for some sort of intel on the pheromones that might still be out there, the rest of it had fallen onto Natasha’s shoulders. Not that she couldn’t bear up under it, but she hardly needed him adding to that.

Steve rubbed his eyes and stretched out on the cot they’d brought in--he thought--four hours ago. He didn’t need as much sleep as he used to, before the serum. He didn’t like as much sleep as he used to, before the crash. But Natasha was right. He had to be sharp, when the time came. This wasn’t his first time, not by a long shot, but the circumstances had been so very different. If Natasha was right, and Tony was inexperienced....That was something he technically knew how to deal with, but he’d never put the knowledge into practice. He knew what he was doing when it came to a girl without much time at the wheel, but a guy? There had only ever been Bucky--he’d started to think that there would only ever _be_ Bucky, and he’d been all right with that--and they’d learned together. When it came to women, well. He’d learned from the forward chorus girls and passed the experience along to the shy chorus girls, and then when he’d gotten a chance to court Peggy again, he’d been back to square one with his foot in his mouth and sweaty palms and butterflies in his stomach before he could even stutter “Yes, agent” at her.

And even if he had been down this road before, it would probably all go out the window here, with this set of particulars. Tony was, well, _Tony_. He was impulsive and rash under the best of circumstances, when he was sober as a judge and didn’t have much personal stake in an issue. Here, when he was chemically impaired and lust-addled and in the habit of fighting whatever suggestions Steve made out of general habit? When Steve couldn’t necessarily trust him to say if it hurt or know if something wasn’t right or take it as slow as he should or a million other things? When they couldn’t decide they were done for the night if they hit a snag and just hold each other until it was time to go? It had the potential to be catastrophic.

Steve wished, not for the first time in the past day, that it had been literally anyone else. Someone Tony _liked_ , or at the very least someone Tony didn’t hate--there were dozens of people to pick from in any post-op mop-up. He could charm practically anybody, if he put his mind to it, and support staff seemed to just bleed into categories for him if he never got to talk to them much. He liked them, respected the work they did, or thought they were pricks; he didn’t need to remember their names to remember how he felt about them. Or, Steve thought ruefully, to make them feel like he gave a damn. Natasha had said something about fanclubs and board meetings when he’d asked. He’d gathered it was something like the PR work he’d done before he’d found out that Bucky’s platoon had been captured. He’d never really gotten time to get to know any of the people he’d been meeting, but that hadn’t made them any less real. 

He shifted uncomfortably. It was just their luck that Tony had latched onto him, the one person within a hundred-meter radius he actively had a problem with. From what he’d seen of Tony, he went with girls he cared for, and he went with pretty girls he didn’t think much about one way or another, but no matter how pretty they were, he didn’t go with girls he disliked. He wasn’t that sort of man. It seemed reasonable to think that, without Doom’s chemicals turning him around like this, Tony would sneer at the thought of climbing into bed with him. 

Steve rubbed his eyes again. He didn’t want to do this. If it had been someone else, he thought, Tony might be able to shrug it off come morning. He might not mind, the way he didn’t mind needing JARVIS to remind him of some supermodel’s name after a drunken one-night stand. Him? Well, Tony might shrug it off come morning. He hoped like hell Tony would shrug it off come morning. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

*****

Steve woke with a start, the rushing water of his nightmare turning into heavy, panting, human breaths after a few confused seconds. He blinked stupidly in the dim light for a moment before realizing that he was the one gasping for air. His heart was pounding in his chest. He’d been dreaming again. Frigid water pouring into the cockpit, into his lungs, his skin so cold under his suit that it felt like he was burning, everything going black...he shuddered and sat up, trying to get his body back under control. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and leaned forward, head down and eyes closed.

He was alive. He was on dry land. He was warm. He was safe. The near-panic was just a physical response to the dream. He consciously took fewer, deeper breaths. He was in a SHIELD facility. He was a member of the Avengers. He’d slept through a lot, but he was awake now. He’d made it. His heartbeat started to slow. He’d almost managed to collect himself when a sharp couple of raps on the door immediately preceded it sliding open.

Bruce gave him a quick once-over and hesitated. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve straightened up. “Bad dream.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.” He realized almost as soon as the word left his mouth how curt he’d sounded. “I mean, not right now. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Bruce grunted, unconvinced, and Steve glanced at the clock.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Bruce asked.

“No. Please, take a seat. Or stand. Whichever you prefer.” He ran a hand through his hair. He was babbling. “Sorry, I’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

“I know we’re a few hours away from the target time you gave Tony, but they’re not going to make it. I thought you’d want to know.”

Steve nodded heavily and kneaded his temples. “Would some extra time help?”

“No. An extra day, maybe. I personally think that’s an overly-optimistic assessment, though.”

“So there’s no sense in delaying the inevitable.” Steve tried to chalk the tightness in his stomach up to the nightmare. _I’m sorry, Tony. They tried._

“I haven’t heard a convincing argument for spinning this out any longer than we need to, no.” Bruce shifted from one foot to the other, then finally leaned against the wall. His posture spoke eloquently of his discomfort.

Steve struggled to think through the receding adrenaline fog. Plan A had been shot to hell. On to Plan B. “When will the drugs you gave Tony start to wear off?”

“He refused the last dose. He’s pretty much climbing the walls.”

“Oh.” Trust Tony to be stubbornly sober the one time Steve would have preferred him doped and out of it for just an hour or two longer. Maybe by then he could have talked himself into thinking this wasn’t going to turn into a loss. “Natasha said there was a drug for, uh...I mean, if I couldn’t....”

Bruce grimaced and pushed his glasses up. “It would be better if you could, Steve. Trust me. It’s there if you need it, but if this only takes a few minutes, you’ll be stuck sitting there with an erection for a while.”

“Bruce, if that’s the worst thing that happens today, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

“It’s just sex, Steve,” he pointed out.

“With someone who wouldn’t want it under these circumstances if it weren’t for Doom’s aerosol bioweapon,” Steve countered. “I realize things are a lot looser than they used to be, but knowing what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with and not _having_ to do it unless you want to all still count for something, don’t they?”

Bruce looked away. “Yeah. All that counts for a lot. But we’re not really in a position to think about that right now. And I’m sorry about that. For both of you. But being sorry about it and wishing things were different isn’t going to help him. For what it’s worth, if he were capable of discussing it in a disinterested and perfectly lucid way, I think Tony would make the same calculations we’ve made and come up with the same result. I don’t think he’s going to fault you for this once the dust settles, the same way he wouldn’t fault you for trying to buy him more time. And I don’t think this is something he’s...particularly sensitive about. Not the way he is about people touching his chest or not being able to move.”

“That means a lot, Bruce.” Steve relaxed slightly. If Bruce was spinning a lie for him, he’d at least had the decency to go with a credible, comforting one. “It doesn’t change things, but it helps to think that he’d make the same call if he was in a position to.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve took a deep, steadying breath. His heartbeat was still a shade too quick, a little too hard in his ears. The crash was still replaying somewhere at the edges of his consciousness, lurking just out of sight. Alive. Dry land. Safe. It was just a memory. It was over. It had happened once, but it wasn’t happening anymore. He was all right. Tony wasn’t. Tony needed him to be better than this.

He stretched, trying to shake the tightness in his chest. He could do this. It wasn’t so very far off from the USO girls he’d toured with, the girls who’d liked how he looked but hadn’t given him much time to get to know them. He’d follow Tony’s lead, let him set the pace, and wait for him to pick and choose whatever he was comfortable with. Maybe Bruce was right, and this would all be over with a little bit of fumbling and quick climax, and he’d feel stupid for making such a big deal out of something so small.

Steve knocked gently before pressing the panel to open the door. "Tony? Can I come in?"

He barely had time to react before Tony was pulling him in, shoving him back against the wall, and reaching up to kiss him.

"Jesus, Tony," he gasped, carefully trying to pry him off. It was unexpectedly difficult. He felt like he was grappling with an octopus.

"No time to talk. Too many clothes."

"Tony, please." Steve finally got a hold on his wrists and managed to keep him at bay. "Can you hold your horses for a minute here?"

"You promised," Tony said accusingly.

"Twenty-four hours isn't up yet," Steve retorted. Tony froze and shot him a glare.

"You can't seriously....You're going to make me _wait_?" he demanded, his tone edging into a whine.

"No, but I need you to slow down just a bit. Please." Steve’s eyes flicked over the room. A bed barely big enough for two people. A small end table with nothing on it. "Where did they put the condoms?"

"The drawer there. With the lube," Tony said, jerking his head toward the table. He looked up into Steve's face. " _Now_ can I take your clothes off?"

He took the lack of immediate objection as assent and started unbuttoning Steve's shirt. Steve let his hands drop, unsure of where to put them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched Tony outside of a fight or the immediate aftermath. Tony's dark eyes were utterly focused and following the movements of his fingers as they made short work of the buttons. He pulled the shirt aside and ran his hands over Steve's abs, making a small noise of frustration.

"This is terrible," he muttered to himself. He groaned and grabbed Steve's hips, trying to pull him forward.

"What's wrong?" Steve fought the impulse to scramble back. Tony's features were twisted as if in pain.

"It is _physically impossible_ to do everything at once," he said forlornly. "I feel like I should start working on that as soon as we're done here."

"Working on what?"

"A way to fix that." Tony seemed to come to a decision and tugged at the shirt, pulling him along. "I need this off as of ten seconds ago. And this." He plucked at the undershirt clinging to Steve's chest. "Come on, Rogers, work with me here."

Steve flushed as he shrugged out of the shirt, then stripped off the A-shirt. Tony's eyes were glued to him the whole time in a way that made Steve acutely aware of just how close to pretty the man could be when he wasn't smirking and strutting and deliberately provoking everyone. Tony was all fine features and clean lines and huge brown eyes, and Steve looked away before it turned into open admiration. He wished he could turn off the lights and be slightly less aware of the intensity and hunger in Tony’s gaze. Then Tony was touching him again, his hands sliding over skin instead of cloth this time, and guiding him toward the bed. Steve shook himself.

“How are you this fucking perfect?” Tony growled, pulling him closer. “How?”

Steve tried to keep his breathing even as Tony’s fingers traced the lines of his body like he was trying to memorize them. God help him, but it felt good. 

“Came out of a bottle, remember?” Steve asked. Tony complimenting him was almost stranger, in its own way, than Tony touching him like this.

Tony paused for a moment, staring at him, then shook his head sharply.

“How are you this _ridiculous_?” he demanded, pushing him back onto the mattress. 

Tony climbed on top of him, kissing and licking his way up Steve’s chest, and then nudged his mouth open. Steve let him, trying to ignore the way his cock was stiffening against his slacks and the way Tony’s touch sent a surge of warmth through him that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Tony grinned against his mouth, then curled his fingers in Steve’s hair and sucked at his lower lip before biting down gently and rutting against him. It was all he could do to keep still and not grind back, to dig his fingers into the sheets instead of grabbing Tony’s ass and pulling him closer. Tony slipped his tongue into Steve’s mouth and groaned softly, his hold on Steve’s hair spasming tight before releasing.

Steve bit back a protest when Tony pushed up and sat back on his heels, clumsily pulling at his own clothes. 

“Why is this shirt so hard to get off? Christ. Do I need to invent a pair of pants that aren’t deathtraps? I do, don’t I? I bet there’s a market for that. Do they make tear-away dress pants? If they don’t, they should. They’d be very useful in situations like this.”

Tony wadded his t-shirt up and hurled it into a corner, then shimmied off the bed and out of the rest of his clothes. Steve couldn’t help watching him, his eyes lingering on the scars as much as the smooth expanses of skin and muscle. Tony might not have been a soldier, but he’d been a fighter. The arc reactor caught him by surprise, and he was struck by the cold beauty of it. He’d always known it was there; its light made it much harder to hide than the scars. But it was another thing to see it bare and glowing softly against human flesh. Tony turned back and stopped short, his eyes widening, and Steve looked away quickly. Open gawking was not something Tony was likely to appreciate once he sobered up.

“God, you’re gorgeous. I mean, you’re just--” Tony broke off, gesturing wildly at him, and Steve flushed. “--with the arms and those lips and those _eyes_. I feel like I need a picture of this just to prove you’re _real_.” He brightened abruptly. “Wait, that’s a great idea. Would you mind? I think I left my phone around here somewhere.”

Steve turned scarlet. “Tony!”

“Okay, okay, never mind. I get it. Save something for next time, right?”

He grinned and bounced back onto the bed, and Steve tried to keep his eyes on Tony’s face instead of the achingly hard cock swaying in front of Tony’s hips. Between the filthy things coming out of his mouth and the unadulterated lust in his expression, Steve thought he’d be lucky to get out of this without embarrassing himself. Then Tony all but tackled him, kissing him hard and grabbing one of his hands and pulling it between them, guiding it to his cock. Steve let Tony close his hand around the already-slick shaft, the skin of it hot and smooth against his palm, and he barely had to touch it before another wave of precome leaked from the tip. Tony grunted as if he were in pain and rested his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

“Tony?” he asked gently.

“I’m probably going to shoot all over you in about two seconds,” Tony gritted, his voice muffled against Steve’s chest. “I apologize in advance.”

“I think it might come with the territory in this case,” Steve assured him.

“Can you just...move a little? And maybe a little harder? Please?” he panted, shifting to the side so that Steve could get a better grip on him. Blushing furiously, Steve curled his fingers around Tony’s cock and began stroking him slowly, gently running his thumb over Tony’s foreskin and then back down over his slit as he went. Tony groaned sharply and curled against him, his eyes screwed shut and his knuckles white.

“Come on, baby, that’s it, come on, just a little bit more, oh god--”

He went rigid as he came, sweat beading on his face and his breath escaping in a sudden exhalation. After a brief silence, he slumped against Steve and buried his face in Steve’s throat, letting his full weight settling on him like a blanket. Steve surreptitiously wiped his hand on the sheets and wondered if it was over. Tony felt like he might be slipping into a nap, but his cock was still hard as a rock and rubbing insistently against Steve’s belly. Tony’s lips moving against his neck sent a shiver down his spine, and he reflexively squeezed Tony’s hip.

“Mmm.” Tony nipped at his throat. “You even smell good. I could just do this forever.”

He rolled Tony off him carefully and scooted back, and Tony whined at the loss of contact.

“Are you feeling okay? Did that change it at all?” Steve asked.

“I’m feeling less okay than I was before you moved,” Tony grumbled. “And somehow--I really get the feeling that this is going to turn into one of life’s great mysteries--finding out that you’re good at handjobs didn’t make my dick any softer, no.”

His eyes drifted down Steve’s body, stopping at the smear of his come on Steve’s stomach, and he swallowed.

“God, I want to come in your mouth,” he blurted

“Excuse me?” Steve blinked at him.

“I, uh, wow. Sorrysorry _sorry_. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I really didn’t.” Tony covered his face with his hands before peeking through his fingers. “I just really, really want you to blow me, and I have have like zero brain-to-mouth filter going on right now, and it just, well, you know. Slipped out.”

Steve closed his eyes for a second and considered his response. “Tony, it’s okay.”

“Seriously, though, I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Tony,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

“Does that mean I’m getting a blowjob?” Tony asked, giving him a mischievous smile.

“Yes?” Steve sighed.

“Wait. Really?” Tony’s smile slipped into a look of disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not just saying that to get my hopes up and then dash them because of the time I rigged your punching bag to yell HYDRA slogans when you hit it.”

“Well, I wasn’t, but now that you bring that up…”

“You huge cocktease,” Tony groaned. “This is borderline cruelty to billionaires. And you did say we could do whatever I wanted.”

“And you want me to suck you off.”

“I want _everything_. I wasn’t kidding about that. Everything, including a recording of you saying that, because _oh my god_ , and if I could figure out the right way to bend space-time, I want it all at once.” Tony stirred restlessly, his eyes darkening. Climaxing had taken some of the immediate edge off, but seeing Steve flushed and mussed and slightly used was putting it right back on. “Actually, I think what I’d like to do first is take your pants off, because them still being on seems like an oversight.”

Steve looked away and chewed his lip. Once the faint hope that Tony was taken care of had been snuffed out, he’d been replaced it with hope that Tony would be too distracted to complain that he wasn’t completely naked. It was obvious that he was turned on--it would have taken a blind man to miss it, and he wasn’t looking forward to the added awkwardness _that_ was going to cause once this was over--but he’d wanted to avoid the more blatant confirmation of it as long as possible.

“I can help, if you want. I got my own off and everything.” Tony reached for him, and Steve batted his hands away. “Come on. I could probably manage a belt at this point, too. Multiple PhDs, you know. It’s all in the--”

Whatever he’d been going to say was lost to a frantic choking sound when Steve ran his hand over his swollen cock.

“Jesus Christ, give me some fucking warning, will you?” Tony gasped, and Steve froze. “No, fuck, don’t _stop_ , I’m not asking you to _stop_ , keep going.”

Tony grabbed Steve’s wrist and coaxed him into speeding up. Steve leaned forward and tried to focus on the endgame instead of the fact that Tony was naked and hard and keening under him.

“Tony.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Do you want me to blow you or not?”

He stared at Steve’s lips like he was hypnotized. “Ask me that again.”

Steve stroked him quickly enough to make him squirm and repeated himself slowly.

“Do you. Want me. To blow you.”

Tony came again, spilling over Steve’s fist. He flopped back onto the pillows and licked his lips, his eyes glittering feverishly. “What do you think?”

“Are the pheromones wearing off at all?” Steve asked. Tony gave him a blank look.

“I don’t know, because you just pretty much offered to go down on me, and I would have to be dead not to be hard from that. I mean, have you _seen_ you? This is a terrible baseline to be getting a reading from. Even though you still have pants on.” He squinted irritably at the offending article of clothing. “Didn’t I just register an objection to those a minute ago? Do I need to submit the request in writing? And before you answer that, I think you should know that if you say ‘yes,’ I might cry.”

“Tony!”

“What? I’m very emotional right now. And I’m feeling vulnerable. And my dick is so hard that I might cry anyway, so it seems reasonable to try getting something I want out of it while I’m at it.” Tony smirked at him. “Come on. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

When Steve frowned, Tony rolled his eyes, got to his knees, and started unbuttoning Steve’s slacks. It was difficult not to melt into it when Tony got distracted and started sucking at his throat, hands wandering from his fly to his ass and rubbing against him with increasing enthusiasm. It was like a pain he’d carried so long it had stopped registering had suddenly vanished. _This is the pheromones_ , Steve reminded himself. _This isn’t Tony. Stop it._

Tony shivered and blinked a few times.

“How do I ever get any work done with you hanging around? I mean, I know I do, but right now I just can’t picture how it actually happens.” He unzipped Steve’s pants and started tugging at the waistband. “Come on. What happened to working together and increased team efficiency and all that? Help me out, here.”

“Tony--”

Then his hand slipped into Steve’s boxers, and he was giving Steve’s cock a rough, exploratory stroke, and Steve couldn’t finish the sentence. Tony’s other hand slipped up to cup the back of his neck, and Tony gave him a delighted smile.

“Well, _that_ was a fun noise.” His grin was edging into predatory. “I definitely need you out of those pants now.”

Steve looked away, trying to ignore the way Tony’s eyes had fixed on his face. The cat was out of the bag, and there wasn’t really that much more reason to keep them on. Steve hooked his thumbs under the fabric and shucked pants and boxers in one go. Tony had retreated to give him room to work, and now he stared open-mouthed at the result.

“God bless America,” he breathed.

Steve blushed, then shied away when Tony reached for him, a look of something like reverence clouding his soft brown eyes.

“You okay?” Steve asked quickly.

“I am fucking great,” Tony said absently, his gaze raking over Steve’s body. “I just need to spend a few hours touching you and saying ‘oh my god’ over and over again. Can you make a note of that for future reference? I’m pretty sure the FDA’s going to require that be listed as a side-effect when this thing hits the open market. I would, but, you know. Busy.”

He pushed Steve back onto the mattress and slid his hands over everything he could reach. Steve arched when Tony brushed his cock again, and Tony licked his lips.

“You like that,” he observed softly.

“This isn’t about me,” Steve managed, trying to shift back. Tony chuckled.

“Getting hit with a chemical weapon is no excuse for being selfish in bed.” He leaned down and kissed him, his tongue moving against Steve’s quickly and eagerly. “Besides, I think this might be one of those times when virtue’s its own reward.”

Steve gasped when Tony’s hand curled around his glans and slid down before letting go and grazing his balls. It was hard not to buck against him, seeking more contact when he let go.

“See?” Tony purred, caressing him again. “I mean, I do _that_ and then I get to see you just _light up_ and it’s really, really kind of a miracle I haven’t just unloaded into the pants I’m not wearing because I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this turned on.”

“It’s the pheromones,” Steve reminded him, gritting his teeth. Tony was nipping at his throat right below his jaw, and one hand was braced against his bicep like he could keep Steve right where he wanted him, and he was casually rutting against the thigh he was straddling, and the hand circling Steve’s cock refused to fall into any sort of predictable rhythm, and it was all too much.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, moving up slightly to suck at Steve’s earlobe. “Nothing at all to do with you being naked and gorgeous and trying so fucking hard not to lose it from this.” Tony squeezed a little harder and increased his pace. “Let go, baby. I want to see you come.”

Steve gasped and twisted under him, trying not to calculate the likelihood of Tony cringing at the same prospect once the effect wore off. Tony pressed him back down and kissed him, all teeth and tongue and need, as he stroked him harder. He climaxed roughly, his vision going dark at the edges and his sense of time distorting. When he caught his breath, his hands were on Tony’s ass, and Tony was leering triumphantly.

“I could just watch that on loop all day,” Tony informed him smugly. Steve flushed and pushed him back a bit. “Hang on, let me grab some tissues. I kind of went along for the ride.”

“What?” Steve asked, trying to get his bearings again.

Tony shrugged. “I did apologize in advance, if you recall. And you’re _unbelievably_ hot when you come.”

Tony wiped them both off and lounged back, lacing his fingers together behind his head and giving Steve the smile that he’d come to associate with terrible ideas and questionable logic. 

Tony arched an eyebrow. “I believe I was promised fellatio?”

Steve laughed and buried his face in his hands.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but…that’s just such a you way to put it.” Steve wiped his face on the back of his arm and shook his head. He felt like he was losing his mind. Tony stared at him. “I really am sorry.”

Tony crossed his arms and scowled at him. “I’ll have you know this is going on your review. ‘Laughs at the word “fellatio,” four out of five stars, might dry-hump again.’ I mean, I don’t know where I’d review this sort of thing right now, but I’m sure there’s somebody out there running a site that keeps track of how superheroes and American icons are in the sack.”

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked, tilting his head. It might have been his hormone-fogged imagination, but Tony seemed slightly less erratic and decidedly more coherent. He definitely seemed less single-minded.

“Insulted, cheated, and blue-balled?” Tony retorted.

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.”

Tony shrugged uncomfortably and looked away. “Like I’m going to have permanent psychological scarring if you don’t get over here and do something. But less like I have an entire hive of incredibly horny bees crawling around under my skin.”

“So your symptoms are improving,” Steve sighed, relieved.

Tony pulled a pillow over his face and groaned, and Steve let himself really look at him. Guilt nagged at him--Tony would probably hate him for this as soon as he was back to normal--but it was hard not to appreciate how beautiful he was. He shook himself and tentatively reached out to touch Tony’s shin.

“Will you stop that?” he asked.

“Will you stop teasing me?” Tony demanded, lifting the pillow enough to be heard around it.

“I’m not trying to tease you, Tony, I’m trying to make sure you’re going to be all right.”

“Well, you’re knocking the whole multitasking thing out of the park, then,” he grumbled, finally throwing the pillow to the side. 

Tony pushed himself into a sitting position and pulled Steve down to him for a rough kiss. Steve let himself be led, and Tony tipped his head back and guided Steve’s lips down his neck. His skin was rough with stubble, and Steve could taste the slight salt tang of sweat. Tony groaned from deep in his chest when Steve licked gently at the hollow of his throat, then reluctantly urged him lower. He flicked his tongue over one of Tony’s nipples, and Tony’s hand tightened suddenly around his hair. The simultaneous quick, sharp jerk of his hips sent his cock sliding along Steve’s stomach, and he grunted.

“Jesus,” Tony hissed, his fingers gradually loosening. “Your mouth is practically a deadly weapon.”

“You still want me to--”

“ _Yes_.” Tony arched up under him, all but whimpering as he pulled Steve’s head down his abs and to his hips. “ _Please_ , you have no idea how much I need this.”

Steve positioned himself between Tony’s thighs. He tried to ignore the way he was getting hard again himself and the almost-painful tug of Tony’s fingers curled in his hair and focus on what he was doing. Tony’s cock was just a bit bigger than Bucky’s, which he’d been able to handle without serious issue. Then again, even when they’d both been three sheets to the wind, Bucky had always been a gentleman about everything. However he was in bed normally, right now Tony was twisting and trying to grind against him just from the feel of his breath against his skin. He braced his hands against Tony’s hips.

“Ready?”

When his only answer was a desperate whimper, Steve bent his head, moving his lips and tongue gently around Tony’s glans. Tony gasped sharply, his eyes going wide, and then the grip on his hair was _definitely_ painful as Tony tried to push his head down. Steve relaxed his jaw and gave a bit, taking more of Tony’s cock slowly enough not to trigger his gag reflex. Tony was writhing underneath him, and his legs had wrapped around Steve’s back, and his face had gone almost blank. If it weren’t for Steve’s grip on his hips, he was sure Tony would have been thrusting down his throat immediately. As it was, it was difficult to keep control of the situation, and there was some small part of him that was almost awestruck by the severity of Tony’s reaction to every small flick of his tongue and quirk of his lips. When he finally let Tony’s cock slide into his throat, the response was a jagged, hoarse moan. A few shallow thrusts later, and Tony was spending with a wordless cry, his head thrown back and his mouth open.

Tony slid bonelessly back to the mattress, and Steve swallowed and coughed, a little shaken at the intensity of Tony’s climax. After a few moments, a stupid grin settled onto Tony’s face, and his eyes fluttered open.

“God, that was unbelievable, I don’t think I’ve ever...hey, you okay?” His lips twisted, and he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Steve said, coughing again.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled his legs back under himself. “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

Tony leaned forward, kissing him warmly and sliding his hands up Steve’s back. Steve forced himself not to flinch away when Tony pressed up against him. The frantic need to couple, he could deal with. The sudden switch to a weird sort of solicitude was throwing him for a loop. While he was sure Tony had the capacity for tenderness, he’d never really expected it to be directed at _him_. Tony let his forehead rest against Steve’s shoulder and hummed to himself.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked, his fingers kneading at Steve’s shoulder blades. “Do you need to take a break?”

“Tony, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect. Better than perfect. That was mind-blowing.”

“You looked kind of gone there for most of it,” Steve said carefully.

“Believe me, I was right there with you the entire time.” Tony sighed happily, and his hands drifted down to Steve’s ass. “Except for that one thing you did with the tip of your tongue those two times. I think that might have given me a teeny tiny aneurysm.”

“Uh...”

“Kidding. Mostly.” Tony pulled back and gave him a bright smile. “Seriously, though. You’ll see what I’m talking about in a minute.”

He shoved Steve back, toppling him over. Tony grabbed his hips and let his eyes wander from his cock to his face and then back, then grinned at him. “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when I’m returning the favor.”

The thought of how Tony would feel about having had Steve’s cock in his mouth once the pheromones wore off was like a sudden, unexpected drop. He pushed himself back and held Tony at arm’s length.

Tony frowned at him. “Okay, so yeah, I’m the only genius in the room right now, but I _know_ you know how blowjobs work, and I’m pretty sure you’ve always been able to grasp the logistics of me not being able to give you one if I can’t get my mouth around your dick.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Steve ground out. His face was on fire, and his attempts to will away his erection weren’t working in the slightest.

“No, see, it’s a fantastic idea. I know because I’m the one who had it,” Tony explained impatiently. “Just lie back, let me work my magic, and then come so hard you hear the _Star-Spangled Banner_ as originally sung by drunken, sleep-deprived rebel colonists.”

“Really not a good idea, Tony.”

“No, it’s really the best idea. Trust me. I know when I’m having a bad idea, Rogers. Like, I also really, _really_ want to fuck you, but I’m pretty sure telling you I want to be balls-deep in you and feel you coming around my dick is not going to _goddammit_.” He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. “No internal filter whatsoever. Can you just not look at me for a few minutes? Or until you can look at me without that deeply-disappointed-parent expression? Because I’m reasonably sure it’s not _entirely_ my fault I can’t stop saying stuff like that out loud for the time being. I mean, I’ve never brought up people being able to bounce quarters off your ass at a team meeting, right?”

“It’s okay,” Steve soothed. 

“Aaaaaaaaand that’s a huge lie.”

“Tony.” Steve flushed more deeply. He’d generally preferred being in the active role rather than the passive, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t enjoyed it when Bucky had fucked him. And, at least according to Coulson’s seminars, it wasn’t even like most people thought of it that way anymore; it was less a question of what you did than who you wanted to do it with. The bigger concern at the moment was if Tony was in control enough not to rush things.

“I can apologize in iambic pentameter if that would help. It’s a party trick I learned from--”

“ _It’s okay_.” Steve tried to maintain an air of calm. Tony was handling this better than he’d thought he might, but he still needed someone to anchor him. “That you want to fuck me, I mean. It’s okay.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tony looked around suspiciously. “I’m in a VR program, aren’t I? I’ve been sucked into some sort of weird computer simulation that’s latched onto the worst parts of my brain and is just looping me through a positive feedback cycle, haven’t I?”

“No. I don’t know what half of that means, but no.” Steve frowned at him and dropped his hand.

Tony pinched his arm, his face contorting in a mix of mild pain and utter concentration. “Well, that hurt.”

“You’re not dreaming, Tony,” Steve sighed.

“I’m not dreaming, but you just said you’d let me bone you.”

“Your genius-level conversational skills are really showing through here, Stark,” he snapped.

“Hey!” Tony ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, that _may_ have been somewhat warranted. But you can see where I’m coming from, right?”

“Tony, you got dosed with a highly experimental love potion manufactured by the dictator-for-life of a small rogue nation-state for use on his intellectual rivals. I don’t know what you want me to say to make this kind of make sense,” Steve protested. “Back in my day, people stuck to bombing factory-towns and bridges because they wanted total control over an area’s resources, population, and any strategic value.”

“Well, if you were trying to convince me that you’re really you, that worked perfectly.” Tony made a face at him. “I just...seriously? You’re really going to let me have sex with you?”

“I’m not sure why you keep asking that. It’s just sex, not the holy grail or the fountain of youth.” Steve’s brows furrowed. Tony had fallen in and out of bed with almost anyone he’d ever fancied for half an hour, if even a tenth of the rumor mill was to be believed. He clearly didn’t think fucking someone was, in and of itself, anything _that_ special.

“It’s...just sex?” Tony laughed. 

A broad smile parted his lips, and Tony crawled forward until he was almost kissing him. Steve watched him, almost hypnotized, and then Tony broke away and brushed a soft kiss over his throat. Steve shivered and tried not to acknowledge the heat of Tony’s body all but sandwiched against him, or the way that Tony’s eyes darkening with lust made his cock thicken.

“God, I’m going to make this _so good_ for you,” he growled, pushing Steve back against the bed.

“This isn’t about me,” Steve reminded him, barely smothering a quick catch in his breathing as Tony’s hand caressed his thigh. Tony noticed it nevertheless, and his eyes were practically shining.

“Yeah, you say that, but then you’re _this_ beautiful and _this_ responsive and in bed with me, and you can’t expect me not to take full advantage of that,” Tony explained, rubbing the inside of his knee. “There’s no way I could see you look like that just from being touched and not want to make you come so hard you’ll still have a dopey look on your face next week.”

His gaze swept over Steve one last time as he turned away to root through the drawer for lube and condoms, and Steve closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on the situation. If he was honest with himself, he missed the weight of Tony’s body against his ribs, the heat of Tony’s skin against his, and the faint rasp of stubble against his lips. If he was slightly more honest with himself, he could have gotten hard just by hearing Tony say that. He felt like he was starving, like he’d gone far too long without being wanted, without another body against his, without coming for someone other than a ghost.

Then Tony was climbing back on top of him, kissing him fervently, and curling his hand around the nape of his neck.

“Just let me take care of you,” he purred.

Steve shifted position slightly, letting Tony rub lubed fingers against his entrance. He gasped and tensed at a slight increase in pressure, and a deep blush spread over his face and chest. Tony grinned at him, and he looked away. It had been a long time, sure, but that was no excuse for acting like a complete novice.

“Shh,” Tony soothed, circling the tight muscle. “It’s okay. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

The next time he pressed in, Steve managed to keep it together. Tony thrust in gently and pulled out the same way, stretching and opening until he could slide another finger inside.

“Fuck, I wish you’d let me go down on you,” Tony said, rubbing at the muscle with a third finger. His eyes were fixed on Steve’s cock, and he was absently stroking himself as he prepared Steve.

“I really don’t think--ah!” His answer was cut off by Tony casually brushing his fingertips over his prostate.

“You sure about that?” Tony asked, his voice rough and low. He pressed against the same spot, and Steve arched off the bed, barely noticing that Tony had slipped another finger into him. “Christ. I could watch you do that forever.”

Steve grunted something he suspected didn’t make any sense and tried to collect himself. Every time Tony hit that bundle of nerves, he felt like he was going to explode. Tony grinned at him, clearly enjoying the response he was coaxing from him. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt Tony’s fingers slide out of him only to be replaced by the blunt pressure of Tony’s cock. 

“Ready?”

Steve nodded, then made himself relax around the slight burn of it easing in and the odd sensation of being filled. It would fade quickly and give way to pleasure; he knew that from experience. And Tony had gone overboard with the lube, so it was as comfortable as he could make it. It had just been so damn _long_ since he’d had anyone like this.

“Talk to me, baby,” Tony gritted, sliding to a stop. “Tell me how it feels.”

Steve opened eyes he hadn’t quite realized he’d closed only to find Tony’s face beaded with sweat, his shoulders and arms highwire-taut. The hand that wasn’t gripping his knee and pushing his leg up was knotted in the sheets with a white-knuckle grip.

“Steve,” Tony panted, shaking his head. “Come on. Say something. Let me know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he reassured him, letting his hands move to Tony’s waist. Some of the tension eased out of his arms. “You’re not hurting me.”

Tony pressed in just a bit more, and Steve let his head fall back. It was hard to focus on anything other than the cock filling him, and Tony grunted.

“I kind of thought this thing was burning off,” he managed through clenched teeth, “but oh my god, I just want to get in you deep as I can go and fuck your brains out.”

Steve choked off a response as Tony’s cock twitched inside him, and his hands squeezed into Tony’s well-muscled back. Tony made a sharp noise and thrust forward, seating himself fully in one final push, and Steve clenched at the sudden change. It wasn’t quite pain, but it was a fiercer burn than he’d been hoping for, and he squirmed slightly, trying to acclimate to Tony’s length. The shift made Tony curl around him, keening shamelessly as he fought not to move.

“You’re doing fine, Tony,” Steve said softly, running his fingers along his spine. “Just keep still for a little bit longer, can you do that for me?”

Tony made a strangled noise and gripped Steve’s knee hard enough to hurt but didn’t move. Steve tried not to tense as he let himself get used to the feeling of having Tony inside him. 

“I need to move, Steve, I’m sorry but god, I’m going to rip right out of my skin.” He was almost sobbing against Steve’s neck.

“Just go slow,” Steve said, stroking his back. “Slow as you can, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony panted. He started rocking against him, a look of intense concentration on his face. “Don’t think twice about just shoving me the hell off you if I hurt you or stop listening or, I don’t know, burst into song or something.”

“You’re doing fine.” Steve kept his breathing even and tried not to dig his nails into Tony’s back. It was starting to feel good--really good--but Tony was obviously falling apart. “You can go a little faster if--”

The rest of it was lost in a gasp when Tony started thrusting in earnest, his strokes short and gentle but no less frantic. Tony’s lips were moving against his skin, shaping a muttered litany of curses and endearments. Steve bit back a moan when Tony managed to hit his prostate again, but he couldn’t stop his hands from tightening around Tony’s shoulders.

“Steve?” he hissed. “Did I-- _oh fuck_.”

Tony went rigid, cried out, and then collapsed on top of him. After a few seconds of wordless, ragged panting, he rested his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered. He pulled out, and Steve tried not to regret the sudden empty feeling he was left with.

“Tony, are you--”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.” Tony pushed himself up and stared worriedly at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

“You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine,” Steve said firmly. “Are _you_ all right?”

Tony laughed, his tone bitter, and dropped his forehead to Steve’s chest. “I just practically mauled you, and you’re asking me if I’m all right.”

“You didn’t practically maul me, and that’s not an answer.”

“Okay, I just _actually_ mauled you, and--”

Steve lifted him and guided Tony’s chin up until he was meeting his eyes. “ _You didn’t hurt me_. I am _fine_. Are you?”

Whatever last paroxysm had seized him at least seemed to have cleared the rest of the pheromones out of his system, and Steve was left abruptly aware of the possibility of a post-exposure crash. Tony fidgeted, looked away, and blushed furiously.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but down. “Um. I usually don’t finish first like that, and it seems kind of shitty to leave you hanging after putting you through all that. If you want, I could…”

Tony sat back and gestured awkwardly, dragging a handful of blanket in front of him to cover himself. Steve flicked the sheets over his lap and shook his head.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said stiffly. Tony looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, and the thought of him going through a sex act motivated by guilt was revolting enough that Steve found his erection fading anyway. He looked away pointedly and cleared his throat. “I think most of your clothes are over there.”

Steve kept his eyes averted and listened to Tony clean up and dress hurriedly, a sick feeling creeping over him. This was exactly what he’d been worried would happen. 

“Um, we should both check in with medical. Like, right now,” Tony announced. Steve looked him over, then glanced away.

“Your, uh, pants,” he pointed out.

“Shit. Yeah. Good catch. Thanks.” He heard Tony’s zipper going up, then a soft cough. “I really have no idea what to say, here.”

“You should check in with medical,” Steve supplied.

“Right. I’m just going to go do that. Now. Do you want me to send them in, or are you okay? Um…”

“It’s okay, Tony,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah. Uh. I’ll just be going, then.”

Steve waited until the door shut behind him, then put his head in his hands. _Exactly_ what he’d worried would happen. Tony had shaken off the pheromones, and the reality of everything they’d done was setting in, and he was freaking out. Which, of course, made everything Steve had offered or initiated all the more egregious in retrospect. He’d intended to let Tony lead on everything, and then he’d gotten sucked into trying to comfort and reassure him, and he’d offered more than he should have, and now….

Now he just hoped none of it had been anything Tony couldn’t get his head around.


	5. Chapter 5

The debrief was a blur of awkwardly-phrased questions and nodding and the best attempt at professionalism Steve could muster in the face of the situation. A stone-faced phlebotomist took a few blood samples without any unnecessary interaction, and he found himself unaccountably and overwhelmingly grateful to her for it. As soon as his bloodwork showed no unexpected changes, he was cleared for unsupervised activity. Unsupervised activity, in his case, meant escaping the mix of sympathetic and prurient stares by beating a strategic withdrawal to his quarters and locking the door.

Tony was fine. Tony would be fine. Every test they’d run so far had shown a return to normal function, and they had no reason to think the ones they had yet to run would show anything different. He clung to that like a man adrift. It was possible Tony would be willing to overlook it. They could pretend it hadn’t happened. It was a necessity dictated by the situation, nothing more. That he still ached with the memory of how Tony’s hands had felt on him and how Tony’s cock had felt inside him was irrelevant. It would fade with time; he knew that much by now. If he could learn to ignore the friends and lovers who were no longer by his side, he could learn to ignore the way Tony had reminded him of exactly what he was missing. And it was hardly something anyone else needed to know about.

Steve thought of the way Tony’s expression had transformed into barely-concealed horror once he’d snapped out of it, then deliberately tried to clear his mind. He’d done what he could to minimize what Tony had to feel horrified at, and, while he certainly could have done more, he couldn’t have done that much more. They were grown men. They could deal with this. But right now he just wanted to crawl into bed and forget everything for a few hours, and he was too wired to even think about it.

Coulson had promised to see to Tony personally and that they would make absolutely sure he had everything he needed. Tony was in good hands. He paced and tried to reassure himself. Coulson knew what he was doing. Tony had proven his resilience over and over again. Tony had Pepper, and several good, reliable friends, and the rest of the team. He had to know that he wasn’t alone, that he could lean on them. He’d be all right. He had to be.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and suddenly shivered at the memory of Tony’s fingers curling around his nape. It didn’t help that he could almost still smell Tony on him. He should bathe. Bathe, eat something, try to get some sleep; he ticked off the items on the checklist in his head. The nurse hadn’t said much except not to take anything--herbal, over-the-counter, or prescription--that hadn’t been cleared through them first, and to call in if he experienced any unusual symptoms. He knew the drill, though. It had become rote after the mission that had cost him Bucky. Clean up, chow down, and try to get some rest. It wouldn’t fix anything, but it would keep him on his feet long enough to go the next round. Given time, he could get his head screwed back on right. He glanced at his phone, and it was hard not to call Coulson and ask for an update. 

Steve shook himself. Even assuming Coulson was done with Tony by now, it would be more than a little rude to butt in so soon. He probably wasn’t, though, and the last thing he’d want was Steve badgering him about something he was in the middle of doing. It wouldn’t help. He needed to calm down a little before he started hassling people for updates. He settled on a shower first. Maybe afterwards he could choke something down. As it was now, his stomach was in knots and his throat felt dry and tight.

*****

Tony crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “I’m not talking to you about this right now, Coulson.”

“I know it’s a little embarrassing, but you do need to be debriefed, Tony,” Phil sighed, tapping his pen against the pad in front of him.

“Medical cleared me.”

“Yes, they did,” Phil agreed. He grimaced and added a muttered, “Thank God.”

“So I’m going home. Right now.”

“Tony, you’ve been through a difficult experience--”

“Which I have no--and I mean, literally, absolutely, completely _no_ \--desire to add to right this second by talking about it with you. Just pencil me in for an appointment with somebody who isn’t you in the next few days and call it a night. I’m going to go home, have a few shots, and do something more fun than this. Like get a root canal.” Tony glowered at him stubbornly before looking away, his expression melting into something like contrition. “Has Steve gone through medical yet?”

“Clean bill of health,” Phil told him. Tony perked up a little, and Phil’s eyes narrowed. “And a full debrief. Nothing you tell us is going to be a surprise, Tony. I understand this is difficult, but--”

“Really? You understand this?”

Phil regarded him levelly. “Not to get into too much personal disclosure, but this isn’t my first time at this type of rodeo, on either side of the desk. So yes, I have some inkling of what you’re going through. You don’t have to conduct the interview with me. Even Steve could run through it with you, if you’d prefer not to talk to anyone who doesn’t already know the details. He’s the team leader, after all.”

“Steve could…?” Tony sputtered. He stopped abruptly and nodded. “Actually, yeah, let’s go ahead and do that. _Later_. Once we’ve both had some downtime. You know, to, uh, process everything. And recuperate. And get all the awkwardness out of our systems. You know how it is, apparently. Just because you’ve seen a guy in the locker room a million times, you’re not necessarily prepared for some weird chemical compound to make you want to bang them like a screen door in a hurricane. You’re, um, sure he got a clean bill of health?”

“Any reason he wouldn’t have?” Phil asked. “Should I be talking to him again about anything specific? Was he showing symptoms of something we need to take a closer look at? He did have minor skin contact with the pheromone gas, after all.”

“No,” Tony said quickly. “Er. No, not that I can think of. Um. Really. Just, uh, checking. Because I’m thoughtful like that. I care deeply about the continuing health of all my sexual partners.”

“You’re babbling, Tony,” he pointed out blandly.

“Sure am.”

“Continuing this conversation is going to be unproductive, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

Phil frowned at him and closed the file. “Do me a favor?”

“Will it get me out of this interview faster?” Tony asked hopefully.

“The packet I gave you, with the contact information and resource directory?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t throw it in the recycle bin as soon as you’re out of my line of sight. If you wind up needing any of it, I want you to have it ready to hand. Please.”

Tony blushed furiously. “I won’t. I’m fine. Hand on the Bible.”

“Humor me, Tony.”

“Yes, like I said, _fine_. I will keep the packet I totally don’t need, because _I’m fine_ , as a personal favor to you.” 

“And Rogers. He made me promise to make sure you were taken care of.”

“Did he, then.” Tony scowled. “You know when I actually _could_ have used all this stuff, given how badly I tend to react to loss?”

“After Fury told everyone I had died without going on to tell everyone they were still trying to resuscitate me?” Phil asked flatly.

“You know, the humane thing to do would be to let me milk that a little bit more, especially given the current circumstances,” Tony sulked.

“I’m sorry Director Fury was inconsiderate of everyone’s feelings during the Chitauri invasion, Tony. I’m also completely serious about you taking advantage of anything you need. The fallout from things like this can be tricky to deal with, and it can sneak up on you. Do you want me to talk to Pepper about it?”

“I swear to Thor’s dad, I will quit and become a supervillain if you talk to Pepper about it,” Tony snapped.

Phil held up his hands, trying to placate him. “It was a good-faith offer. If you don’t want me to, my lips are sealed. Would you like me to add a note to your disclosure authorization form for her excluding this?”

“I don’t want to turn this into a thing, okay? Can we not do that? Jesus.” Tony spread his arms and looked around wildly. “No, I don’t want you to add a note. If she asks, it’s fine. Just don’t go _volunteering_ at her. I’ll talk to her. If she’s worried, she’ll talk to you. Done, _finito_ , over.”

“All right.” Phil tilted his head. “Just...honestly, Tony. Let me--or anyone else--know if you need anything. You’ve got the whole of SHIELD behind you. We take care of our own, and our resources are your resources. Use it if you need it.”

“Will do, Agent Coulson.” Tony gave him a mock-salute, and Phil frowned, shoved the packet back into his hands, and held the door for him as he swept out of the office.

“Bruce is going to take you home. Natasha’s already ferried Steve back to the Tower. The two of you are grounded for forty-eight hours, after which I’m sure medical will clear you for a return to full, active duty. Any unusual physiological or mental fluctuations, call it in. Any recurrence of previous symptoms, call it in. You know the drill.”

“Yup,” Tony agreed, nodding. He caught Bruce’s eye from down the hall and waved. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go somewhere else, where this conversation isn’t happening.”

“Take care of yourself,” Phil grunted. There was a glimmer of frustration in his eyes, and Tony wanted to avoid the talk it promised so bad he could taste it. Phil wasn’t easily rattled. If he was still feeling it however long after the fact, Tony didn’t want to know. “For Pepper, if no one else.”

Tony gaped at him, caught off-guard by that. “Below the belt, Coulson.”

“Whatever gets the job done, Stark,” Phil told him. “We’re not letting this take you out. You’ve been through too much for this to be what gets to you.”

“Bastard,” Tony mumbled to himself. He stalked down the hall, and Bruce fell in beside him.

“You want to talk about it?”

“I’d sooner hit Mach 2 with my faceplate up.”

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to talk about occasionally turning into a giant, green rage-monster?”

Bruce shot him a sidelong glance. “Do you think that would help?”

“Not really,” Tony conceded.

Bruce loaded him into a SHIELD motor pool car, and he resisted the urge to ask why they weren’t taking his car. Last time he’d asked Bruce if he wanted to take one of the supercars for a spin, he’d gotten a sour look and a reminder about heart rates and excitability and collateral damage.

They lapsed into silence, and Tony found himself unexpectedly grateful for the way Bruce genuinely didn’t seem to be waiting for him to crack. It wasn’t as if everyone had a particularly good reason to be freaking out about his wellbeing. He’d gotten a dose of experimental pheromones and wound up having sex with Captain America. It wasn’t any weirder or more traumatic than finding out that he was the Road Runner to his almost-uncle’s Wile E. Coyote, that inventing a new element and rescuing Rhodey from being turned into a remote-controlled Hammer-drone didn’t entitle him to a ménage à trois, or that aliens were both real and complete assholes. This was, apparently, just his life right now. Save New York from a friendly-launched nuke, develop a fetish for bad-ass redheads, retroactively horrify every founding father except for Ben Franklin--all in a day’s work for Iron Man. He ran his fingers through his hair and glared out the window, watching the streets roll past.

It wasn’t even that he’d fucked Steve, really. He wasn’t deluded enough to try to convince himself that Steve wasn’t a walking wet dream. He was a judgmental pain in the ass, yes, but he was also a _gorgeous_ judgmental pain in the ass. Nobody with functioning eyes and a sense for conventional or classic beauty could fail to appreciate his attractiveness. What got to him--what _really_ got to him--was more the way he’d been reduced to wanting him like that at the expense of any sort of normal behavior. He hadn’t just wanted to fuck him, he’d wanted _everything_. He’d been burning up with the need for it. He hadn’t even been able to resent the situation anymore, so long as he could get Steve into bed. He’d wanted Steve to smile at him, to want him back, to have a good time. Enough time with the right chemicals floating around in his bloodstream, and he’d been reduced to begging Steve for the girlfriend experience. It had been humiliating, and then Steve had been _understanding_ , and _accommodating_ , and instead of behaving himself and being grateful, he’d….

Tony hugged his chest and wished he’d insisted on taking a shower before the debriefing. He’d lost it, and he’d been too rough, and he couldn’t even remember what he’d said. He didn’t usually go in for anything too hair-raising when it came to dirty talk, but that was assuming an experienced and completely willing partner. Steve--virginal, chivalrous, perfect, pre-war-era Steve--had just been humoring him. Steve didn’t even _like_ him. And then that sudden, sharp grip on his shoulders, like Steve had been ready to push him off, like Steve had been in pain, and _that_ was when he’d picked to come like a porn star? 

“I fucked up, Bruce. Jesus Christ, I fucked up.” He let his head rest against the cold glass and closed his eyes. “And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bruce reached over, squeezed his hand gently, and then let go.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hi, Tony. Do you have a minute?” Steve asked, a hesitant smile tacked onto his face.

“Uh, probably not. What for?”

“I just wanted to check in with you. And see if maybe you, uh, wanted to talk…? About anything? Phil said you’d prefer that I debrief you. That is, that you’d be more comfortable with me doing it. I’m not really sure about that, though. How are you doing?”

“Yeah, I definitely don’t have time for that talk.” Tony held up a component he’d been poking at without any real plan. “Lots and lots of repairs to make. Upgrades. Stuff like that. Gotta keep ahead of the curve, you know?”

“Yeah.” Steve looked around, unsure of himself but clearly unwilling to just leave. “Still, though. Are you...handling everything?”

“I am absolutely fantastic. Just very pressed for time. If you could get the door on your way out?” Tony asked, deliberately going back to working on the transistor.

“Sure. Yeah.” Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded to himself. Tony hummed and jabbed at a circuit with the soldering iron, trying desperately not to think of how far down his chest Steve’s blush could spread. When Steve turned to go, he tried and failed not to stare at his ass as he left. Had his slacks always left that little to the imagination? His uniform was and always had been practically painted on, but Tony couldn’t remember his regular, non-American-flag clothing clinging to his curves that aggressively. Maybe it was just now that he knew exactly what was under it, and how Steve’s skin tasted, he was noticing it more.

As soon as the door slid shut, Tony hurled the ruined transistor across the room and dug his fingers into his hair. Of _course_ Steve wanted to talk about it. Of _course_ he felt some overwhelming need to make sure everything was all right. Why could he never just be a little bit less than perfect? The whole point of telling Coulson that Steve could debrief him had been that they could just rubber-stamp it and forget the whole thing.

Tony groaned to himself and rested his forehead against the cold metal of the work table. He might as well make himself a plaque that said “Worst Person in the World” if he let _Captain_ fucking _America_ see that he was still getting raging hard-ons at the thought of debauching him. It was hardly his fault that he still remembered what Steve’s face looked like when his tongue was wrapped around his cock. And what Steve sounded like when he climaxed. And just how beautifully he squirmed when his body wanted to come _so bad_ but his mind was still fighting it.

“JARVIS, lock the door.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stop peeking.”

“Very good, sir.”

He popped his fly open and ran his fingers over his aching cock. That little noise Steve had made when he’d nipped just below his jaw, the way Steve had bucked when he’d just barely brushed his prostate, the way Steve had looked, raw and panting and painted with his come, right before he’d pulled him down and taken him again….

Tony groaned and shot into his fist. He looked around blearily and swore to himself.

“JARVIS?”

“Sir?”

“Next time remind me to check for a box of tissues or something first.”

“Certainly, sir.”

_Or,_ he thought, _I could just think about how I got a chance to fuck him and then treated him like a blow-up doll and probably actually hurt him and then he lied about it to spare my feelings, because he’s a fucking_ saint _and doesn’t blame me for anything that happened even though I wasn’t_ that _messed up, and then refrain from jacking off to everything that happened before that._

He wiped his hand on a shop-cloth and puffed out his cheeks. If he were a better person, he’d ask Steve if _he_ was okay. But then he might say that he wasn’t, and Tony was okay with being fucked up himself, primarily because he’d had a lot of time to get used to the idea. He wasn’t sure he could handle having fucked Steve up. He’d gotten himself gassed, and then he hadn’t found an antidote, and then he’d been the worst lay of all time. They were probably lucky Steve hadn’t signed up for the priesthood after that. He’d promised to make it worth his while, and then he’d come after what had felt like two seconds, crawled off him, and bolted. He’d been so bad Steve hadn’t even wanted him to finish him off, in spite of having been hard as a rock.

Tony straightened his clothes and stalked around the lab, looking for something to take his mind off things. He didn’t find anything, at which point he wondered if breaking something so that he could then fix it and distract himself that way was maybe a bridge too far. Steve had been to war. He’d fought the Nazis. He’d put his fucking plane down in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic to save the eastern seaboard. Compared to all that, bad sex--even chemically-enhanced bad sex--had to be something he could just shrug off after a few weeks, right? He couldn’t be _that_ much of a boy scout. 

Tony leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Steve Rogers could absolutely be that much of a boy scout. Tony needed to figure out a way to get himself back on an even keel before he wound up with a weird fixation or a complete mental breakdown, and he needed to figure out a way to get Steve back on his feet into the bargain, or at least not make things that much worse. It was hardly his fault that he knew what Steve looked like when he came, but it would definitely be his fault if Steve found out he was still thinking about it.

*****

Steve wrapped his hands and gave the punching bag a once-over. Everything looked in order. He fell into an easy rhythm to warm up, his knuckles hitting with the leather with more accuracy than force. What was done was done, and he couldn’t undo it. Tony wouldn’t talk about it and looked like he could hardly stand to be in the same room with him. He could at the very least burn off some of the frustration in private and try to get himself together.

Steve couldn’t even bring himself to wish he was being less difficult. If anyone had a right to be absolutely livid about the way things had gone, it was Tony. Steve hit the bag a little harder and sped up. Maybe if he worked up a bit of a sweat, he’d forget the heat of Tony’s mouth on his throat. Maybe if he could forget about the way Tony sounded when he said ‘please,’ he could shake off some of the guilt that threatened to smother him. He had no right to knowing any of it. He was only privy to what Tony was like with his clothes off because a chemical weapon had taken away his ability to choose who saw him like that. He wished there was a way to spit it out whole and let Tony have at least that much of himself back.

His fists connected with the bag hard enough to start it swinging erratically, and it took more concentration to land the punches where he wanted. Steve let himself go with it and tried to shut off his mind without much success. His reflexes were too good and too fast for it to provide much of a distraction. He frowned and punched harder, wishing there was a way to make the bags more like a real opponent, something that would demand enough attention to quiet the nagging voice in his head. There wasn’t, and it didn’t. Steve grunted to himself and did his best to ignore the shortcoming.

It wasn’t like Tony didn’t know his way around the bedroom. He’d been with plenty of women, and between his own admission and the tabloids, Steve was pretty sure he’d been more than a little drunk on at least a few occassions. He wasn’t some shrinking violet, and this couldn’t be the first time things hadn’t exactly been under control for him. It stood to reason that Tony was reacting badly to _this_ , specifically, on account of everything he’d been worried about from the start. Steve landed a solid, bone-shaking punch as the bag swung back at him, and he felt the shift in the sand as a seam gave way.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

Steve set about changing out the broken bag for a fresh one and wished again that he’d managed to keep his big mouth shut the first time they’d met. Erskine had rolled the dice with him, and he’d rolled the dice with the serum, and they’d all gotten lucky. The Army had let him make a real difference in the world for the first time in his life, and he’d soaked it up like a sponge. After he’d woken up and found out it was the only thing he still had, well...he wasn’t above admitting that he might have doubled down instead of cashing out and trying to build something from scratch. Then he’d met Tony, and it had been like a punch in the gut. He’d seen the pictures and read the articles. He’d been braced for his looks and his talent. He’d been warned that Tony was a lot like Howard. But Tony moving like Howard and holding himself like Howard and making that same face Howard made when he was about to do something the brass wouldn’t like had caught him badly off guard. Steve hadn’t braced nearly hard enough for the impact of seeing someone who was so much like Howard that he’d thought for a second that Peggy or Phillips or Gabe or Jim might be next in through the door. And when Tony had proved to have all his father’s flaws and half his father’s charm into the bargain, it had pretty much gone to hell after that. 

Steve had walked into it resolved to focus on the mission and ignore what wasn’t his business, but he’d gone on to ignore exactly what Tony had pointed out after the attack on the helicarrier: the rest of them weren’t soldiers. It wasn’t even a military operation, strictly speaking. They had military toys and military-trained personnel backing them up, sure, but Bruce wasn’t a specialist brought in to help with intel, Natasha wasn’t infantry, and Tony and Thor weren’t air support. Half of them were used to being out there on their own, with no back-up when things turned sour, and the other half were used to having back-up that had turned on them. Steve had misjudged, and lashed out, and all the bad he’d apparently taken in with the good when it came to being a soldier had come pouring out right in Tony’s direction, and was it any wonder they’d been circling each other ever since? If he’d at least managed not to make an ass out of himself at their first meeting, Steve thought he might have been able to maintain a level of courteous detachment between them, even if Tony had never warmed up to him properly.

He double-checked the bag’s moorings and attachments, then started up again. There wasn’t much use crying over spilled milk, and he knew it, but telling himself that didn’t make the regrets any less sharp. He’d always just assumed that with enough patience and persistence and effort on his part, Tony might eventually think of him as something other than the jackass who’d tried to pick a fist-fight with him over nothing the very first time they’d met. Maybe if he’d tried a little harder and a little more thoughtfully, he could have fixed things before his failure had catastrophic consequences.

Steve sighed and caught the bag as it arced back, stopping it. This wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped, and he hadn’t had much hope for it in the first place. He checked the clock and decided on a run instead. If he wore himself out, he might at least be able to sleep when night came.

*****

“Did Steve find you earlier? He was looking for you.” Natasha flipped through the schematics she’d commandeered from JARVIS and looked askance at her bracelets.

“I know he was looking for me, but no, he didn’t find me.” Tony popped open a plate and clipped a pair of fine wires to the interior electronics.

“I think he was hoping you had a few minutes free. Are you sure you have those on right?”

“They _are_ Stark-tech, Natasha,” he snapped.

“And you _do_ need to be debriefed about the pheromone incident, Tony,” she retorted, batting her eyelashes at him. He scowled at her.

“Stop that. It makes me feel like you’re going to stab me in the neck.”

“I know, and that depends on whether or not you can fix my gauntlets.” She leaned closer to get a look at the test data. “Coulson’s the one you have to worry about if you keep dodging Steve.”

“I wish Rogers would quit fussing,” Tony grumbled, testing the amperage on the widow’s bite. “I mean, okay, I get it, I’m his first time, but--”

“You weren’t his first time,” Natasha sighed, staring at the readings. “He’s fussing because that’s what he does. Why does it keep fluctuating like that? I need a reliable output.”

He rolled his eyes. Right. The pretty SSR officer with the iron jaw and the perfect aim from all the file photos. Carter. Peggy? Maggie? Something with two Gs. He’d look it up later. “His first time _with a guy_. But that doesn’t mean--”

“You weren’t his first time with a guy, either. It has nothing to do with any sort of misplaced sexual attachment.” She frowned. “This only started after Brussels. Do you think it’s water damage?”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t his first time with a guy?” Something curiously like jealousy shot through him.

“When I asked him about it, he said it wasn’t his first time with a man.” She cocked her head and fixed him with an appraising look, then tapped her malfunctioning weapon. “Do you think it’s water damage?”

“Who else has he been with?” Damn it. He _sounded_ jealous, too.

“That’s a good question. Let me check his file. Can you get back to work on the taser?”

Tony heaved an exaggerated sigh and went back to the fluctuating power output. “It’s probably a bad capacitor. You said you got this wet?”

“You’re the one who pulled me out of the canal, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was distracted. It could have been anybody I was pulling out of the canal. In fact, didn’t I pull like twelve or thirteen people out before you? What’s his file say?”

“I’m getting there. Hang on.” Natasha swiped her finger across the tablet screen. “Here we are. Known male lovers: none, because it was the ‘40s and you could be arrested for sleeping with other men. Huh. What do you know?”

“That’s not really in there,” Tony said. “Wait, is it?”

Natasha smirked and shook her head. “Of course it’s not. Different time. If he’d been open about it at all, he never would have made it through the program.”

“So Captain America was what, blowing strangers in rest stop men’s rooms?”

“Do you actually care, or are you just trying to avoid repairing my equipment?” she asked, her eyes resting on him. He felt like she was weighing him.

“No. Yes. No. Of course not. Rogers can do what he wants.” 

“You weren’t even born yet.”

“I am completely fine with this.” Tony prodded a random component. It didn’t bother him. It _didn’t_. He’d made a stupid assumption, that was all. It wasn't like Rogers had ever actually _said_ anything, one way or another. “Did he say who? Or sound like it was a regular thing?”

“You are unbelievable, Stark.”

“How so?”

“Now who’s fussing?”

“I’m not fussing. I’m...interested. In my teammates’ lives. Because teamwork?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Because teamwork?”

“There’s a legitimate reason. Just give me a few minutes to think of it,” he grunted.

“He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Because it’s none of our business, unless he makes it our business. Once I established that he didn’t need further briefing on proper technique, it was a closed issue.” She smiled thinly. “Maybe you could bring it up the next time you two sit down and talk about how completely fine you are with all this?”

“That is an excellent idea. I’ll be sure to do that right after I finish figuring out what’s wrong with the widow’s bite.” He held it up and waved it at her. “Very important, getting this done. Bad guys aren’t going to zap themselves in the back of the skull, right?”

“So if I run into Steve, I should send him your way?” she asked.

“Uh, no. I’m going to be very busy with this. But maybe try explaining that guys these days don’t go in for the anonymous sex they might have liked back when his slacks were still in style? I mean, the way I hear it, now you just look cheap if you even try kissing another man before the fifth or sixth date. It’s completely not done. And you’re not allowed to think about how they’d look naked before the third date.”

Natasha rubbed her forehead. “Don’t turn this into a thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently, his eyes wide.

“You don’t even like him, and he only had sex with you because it was a medical emergency. You’re teammates. He’s not trying to get into your pants again, he’s trying to make sure you’re not having the meltdown that your behavior would lead a reasonable person to conclude you are, in fact, having over this. You two might not get along personally, but he values your contribution. He feels responsible for your well-being at least as far as it relates to your fieldwork, and he cares about you as a human being,” she said. “Does that make things a little clearer?”

Tony pouted at her. She made it sound like they hated each other. Granted, Steve didn’t really seem to like him, and he could practically hear himself falling short of every standard the super-soldier had every time Steve looked at him, but still. They didn’t _hate_ each other. 

“Don’t get territorial and make it into more than what it was just because he wasn’t a virgin. It’s not going to end well, you don’t really mean it, and it’s more than a little creepy, given the circumstances.”

“Okay, then. Message received. And I appreciate how you never let my self-esteem get too high. It saves me some disappointment in the long run.” He managed a brittle smile.

“Just promise me you’ll spend a few minutes thinking about why you don’t want to talk to him but you’ve suddenly developed a keen interest in where his dick’s been before the next team meeting,” she said firmly. “Or before you say something you can’t take back. Whichever comes first. For everybody’s sake.”

Tony scowled at the malfunctioning equipment as Natasha gathered her things and left. He didn’t know whether to be more upset over how bizarrely disappointed he was that Steve wasn’t a virgin--because seriously, when had _that_ ever been a thing for him?--or over the way he couldn’t chalk even some of Steve’s newfound unease around him up to sexual inexperience. It was one thing if it just hadn’t been how Steve had pictured his first time going. There wasn’t anything Tony could have really done to make it up to him, but he’d have known what he was trying to fix, at least. He could have…

Tony shook his head. He didn’t even know how to finish the thought. What he really wanted was to take Steve back to bed and show him a good time. A _sincerely_ good time. He wanted to make him come so many times that he wouldn’t be physically capable of feeling pain again for days. He wanted to take his time and show him that it should have gone so much better than it had. He wanted to make Steve feel so good that he forgot all about how bad it had been with those damned pheromones pulling his strings. He didn’t care if Steve had fucked his way from one end of Europe to the other and knew full well that sex was usually more fun than that. He owed him that much.

He tossed Natasha’s gauntlets onto the bench, slumped in his chair, and kicked away from the desk, spinning so that he could watch the news feed on the south monitor. He shouldn’t care at all that Steve wasn’t a virgin. He didn’t even know why he’d latched onto that in the first place. Steve blushed at the dumbest things, but that didn’t mean anything. Bruce was almost married and routinely wound up naked in public thanks to his bigger half, and he still turned red over stupid things that no one else would find scandalous. Tony had never, in the rest of his life, ever cared about someone’s sexual history, and it nettled him that this was where he started being an ass about it. It didn’t help that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that comfortable in bed with someone, outside of Pepper and Rhodey. Steve had even laughed affectionately about how Tony had said something, and didn’t that take him straight back to grad school and trying to fool around with Rhodey in the absolutely microscopic back seat of Tony’s convertible in a deserted parking lot after a kegger where they’d both had too much to make it back to Tony’s apartment. He’d felt _safe_ with Steve. It had been so close to being okay, in spite of everything. Then it had all fallen apart in the worst way possible, and now Steve could barely look him in the eye.

Tony rubbed his face and watched blankly as the chyron scrolled along the bottom of the screen. He didn’t even know how to get them back to where they’d been before, when they’d spent half their time together arguing about petty bullshit and the other half gamely ignoring each other.


	7. Chapter 7

“Good morning, Tony.” Steve smiled at him, hoping it wasn’t too stiff. He hadn’t been expecting anyone else up and about this early; he usually had the kitchen to himself. Tony stared at him, frozen in place, before blinking a few times and nodding automatically.

“It is. A good morning. Um.” He looked around the kitchen, his expression hunted. “Hi. Coffee?”

“Sure?” Steve said hesitantly. He reached for the cupboard where they kept the cups and brushed Tony’s hand when he did the same. Tony jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned.

“Sorry! You can, of course, get your own mug. Obviously. You’re an adult and everything. Probably even have a sort of like official mug.”

“Tony?” he asked gently, his brows furrowing.

“Great. I’m great. Fine. No need to even ask. I am in one hundred percent top condition. I think I may have left a Bunsen burner on in the lab, though, so I’m going to get out of your hair. Coffee’s in the pot. Just brewed. Awesome, just like me. ‘Bye!”

Tony shot him a painfully fake smile and scuttled out of the room. 

“Good talk. Glad to see you’re handling this well,” Steve muttered to himself as he poured a cup of coffee.

He shook his head and drummed his fingers against his mug. He’d seen that look before, but only on the faces of cornered animals and agents seriously considering a suicide run because they were out of better options. He’d never felt like he was _looming_ around Tony before; for all Tony’s lack of bulk compared to him, he made up for it with sheer force of personality. Now, he felt like anything closer than ten feet was pushing Tony to the verge of a panic attack. He sipped his coffee. He hadn’t seen Tony babbling like that in an extremely long time, either, and he wondered if he’d even been to bed that night. Left to his own devices, Tony wasn’t an early riser. He was a night owl, though, and it was hardly unknown for him to still be working on some new inspiration at five in the morning. He usually looked more together, though, when that was why he was still rattling around when the sun was coming up.

Steve put the mug down and sank onto a stool, wondering if he should do as Coulson had suggested and see one of the SHIELD shrinks. He didn’t think he needed it--he’d come by his guilty conscience fair and square, thanks--but they might help him figure out a way to make things easier on Tony. As it was, trying to talk to him directly hadn’t worked, and leaving it alone wasn’t working. He was skittish and jumpy, and Steve just being around him seemed to set him off. As aggravating as he’d always found it when Tony was mouthing off, disobeying orders, and strutting around like he was God’s gift to the world, Tony reduced to backing down and slinking away without even a fight was heartbreaking. Steve rubbed the back of his neck and considered the problem.

He’d gotten nowhere, and he kept getting nowhere. Natasha had told him to kick it up to Coulson if he kept on not being able to get anywhere. He considered that something of a last resort, though. Tony would stonewall Phil the same way he was stonewalling him, only it would probably come with a side-order of issues with authority. Clint was out of the question. Pepper was...Pepper. She was the best person for the job, but Steve thought Tony might actually blow a gasket if Steve brought this up with her. Thor was off-planet again, and not a good choice even if he had been around. Bruce might tell Steve to go to hell, but he and Tony had clicked immediately in a way that Tony hadn’t with anyone else on the team. Tony might feel more comfortable telling Bruce if he was genuinely floundering. 

Steve kneaded his temples and wondered if Coulson could arrange for a short-term training mission or tour of something useful to get him out of the tower for a while. If nothing else, it would give Tony a bit of breathing room when he was off-duty. He’d kept it together admirably when they were actually _needed_ somewhere, he really had. But when it was just them, that look of borderline-panic came right back, and Tony couldn’t get him out of sight fast enough. He hated seeing that look on Tony’s face, and the fact that he was the one immediately responsible for putting it there was just salt ground into the wound.

*****

Tony dragged a trash bin across the lab and shoved it against his work table, then swept the empty take-out cartons off it and into the bin. He needed something complicated and flammable.

“JARVIS!”

“Sir?”

“Lock the door, crank up the noise, and if anybody but Pepper or Coulson calls, I’m in Dubai with half of Paris’s resident supermodels. And only put Coulson through if he says the magic word.”

“And that would be?”

“Emergency,” Tony grunted.

“Naturally.”

Tony scowled. He didn’t remember programming JARVIS to sound disapproving, but he was pretty sure that tone had been pure, unadulterated disapproval. He pulled up a display and flipped through files until he found one of the projects he’d filed away for a rainy day. He needed something to take his mind off of everything, and tweaking the settings on one of the industrial-sized repulsor units he’d been fiddling with seemed like it would do the job nicely. The trick, he’d discovered, was in getting something with a usable lift output that could be fine-tuned to allow for a modicum of control. It didn’t do anyone any good to get something in the air if it then had all the maneuverability of a weather balloon. They already had those. They were called blimps, and they hadn’t been the twentieth century’s best idea, never mind the twenty-first’s.

He glared at the schematics for a few minutes before deciding that he really had needed the coffee he’d abandoned once Steve had put in an appearance.

“JARVIS, I need a coffee-maker for the workshop. Have whoever does that sort of thing now get me one the next time they’re doing that sort of thing.”

“Ms. Potts has strictly forbidden the inclusion of any sort of device capable of brewing coffee in the workshop, sir.”

Tony pursed his lips and counted to ten. “Pepper said I can’t have a coffee-maker down here.”

“She calculated the probability of anyone ever seeing you again at five percent, sir.”

“Did she, now.”

“I thought her estimates were quite generous. My own calculations put the likelihood at less than three percent.”

“Okay, then. No coffee for me, apparently.” He sank down onto a stool and crossed his arms. All he had to do was ask JARVIS to check on Steve’s whereabouts, and then he could go back to the kitchen and get himself some. Except that he already felt like a coward for avoiding him like this, and asking JARVIS to see if he was gone yet seemed like a bridge too far.

He should talk to him. He knew he should talk to him. Between Pepper and Natasha and Coulson and Rhodey and hell, he was pretty sure Fury’s lectures counted at this point, too, he’d clocked something approaching a hundred hours of talks about ‘using his words’ and ‘coping appropriately’ and ‘not doing solo flights into active war-zones because it seemed like a good idea.’ His pattern of avoidance, acting out, and then desperately trying to counteract the compounding effects of acting out with a high-risk play had neither gone unnoticed nor actually worked out well for him in the past five years. He really, really should try something new. Something with a better track-record of working. And talking to Steve about it was actually the grown-up, responsible thing to do.

But then every time he looked at him, he realized that he’d rather drop a welding torch on his foot again than sit through a conversation about taking one for the team and healing factors and whatever other rationalizations Steve had come up with since the pheromones had worn off. It had become obvious that he wasn’t holding any sort of grudge, which Tony wanted to say he could live with. People who could put their fists through punching bags without really meaning to holding a grudge was pretty much universally recognized as a _bad thing_ for the person the grudge was directed at. But then, if Steve had at least been angry about it--and he had more than enough cause to be, and Tony was the first to admit it--then there would have been something to address. Tony would have some charge to defend against. Instead, there was just a sort of acceptance coupled with misplaced concern. It was maddening.

He could explain the way he hadn’t quite been able to get Steve out of his head easily enough. It wasn’t the most flattering explanation he’d ever had for something, but he’d gotten used to unflattering explanations after the second or third time he’d done something remarkably stupid trying to recapture that first moment he’d had with Pepper when it had really seemed like she might want him back. Steve was beautiful, and Steve was admirable, and people liked Steve--they liked Steve in a way they didn’t usually like him, at any rate--and he’d managed to stake a claim on some part of Steve’s attention. As much of a disaster as he was, Steve had still been there for him. It had felt good. It had felt like he’d accomplished something special. And he’d fucked things up, and now everything in him that had liked how he’d felt then was screaming to make things go back to the way they’d been. It was messy, and it was ugly, but it wasn’t exactly rocket science.

Why he couldn’t get past the way Steve wasn’t angry, or at least wasn’t angry with _him_ , he didn’t know. He didn’t have a good answer for why he needed Steve to tell him that he’d fucked up, or yell at him, or at least admit that there was something more that needed to be addressed. If ever there was a time to feel relief at being let off the hook for something, he was sure this was it. He’d spent most of his life happily weaseling out of responsibility for things that were infinitely more his fault than this had been. But Steve looking at him and earnestly asking if he was okay, or if he needed to talk about it, or generally refusing to admit that anyone besides him had gotten hit by this particular grenade was enough to make him want to tear his hair out by the roots.

*****

“You going to stop running away from Steve anytime soon?” Bruce asked, tilting his chair back. “Don’t get me wrong, having movie night in your workshop instead of the miniature home theater you call a living room has a few advantages. I can’t think of any at the moment, but I’m sure there are some.”

Tony glared at him. “I’m not _running away_.”

“Right, right. Sorry. Are you going to stop abruptly and strategically retreating from Steve anytime soon?”

“Every time I forget you’re engaged to an Army brat,” Tony muttered. “Natasha send you down here to grief me over it?”

“No.”

“Clint?”

“Clint is too busy setting a supercut of security footage of you not running away from Steve to ‘Yakety Sax’ to grief anyone about anything.”

“If that’s true, somebody’s getting his huge stash of surprisingly vanilla porn deleted during routine server maintenance,” Tony said darkly.

“Of all the things I did not need to know right now, I think that tops the list,” Bruce sighed. “You do realize that you don’t have to have a deep, soulful conversation with him just to occupy the same space, right? I know the whole thing with Doom’s creepy sex-bomb was nothing anybody saw coming, but it would probably be less awful for both of you if you two could at least share the gym without it turning into a hundred-yard dash the second you notice each other. You could just, I don’t know, pretend not to see each other?”

“That doesn’t seem like it’d be that much less awful, though.”

Bruce shook his head. “Before all this started, I would have agreed with you. Now that I’ve seen you trying to stealth your way around your own penthouse a few times, I’ve reconsidered that opinion.”

“I appreciate your support,” he said sourly.

“Do you need my support?”

“Of course not,” Tony scoffed. “But it would be nice if, as my friend, you could offer it anyway.” He tapped his fingernails against the table. “I mean, do you have any idea how humiliating it is to get so desperate to fuck someone who doesn’t even like you that you’re willing to beg them for it?”

“I believe it’s known as ‘pity sex,’ Tony,” Bruce commented drily. “Congratulations on having made it this far in life without being aware of its existence.”

“He didn’t make me, thank god, but that’s not even because of _me_ ,” Tony continued, as if he hadn’t heard him. “It’s because he’s just so fucking _good_ that he’d never take advantage of anybody in that situation. I could have been Loki, in the middle of rampaging through Manhattan, wearing that stupid target-cum-shield of his as a hat, and he _still_ wouldn’t have been mean about it.”

“Shouldn’t you sound less upset about that?” Bruce asked. Tony favored him with a dark look.

“I’m not upset that he wasn’t an asshole about it, I’m upset that him not being an asshole about it had nothing to do with me. He wasn’t being nice _to me_ , he was just _being nice_.”

“Wow.” Bruce squinted at him over the top of his glasses.

“What?” Tony demanded.

“That’s just...wow.” He shook his head. “Freud could have founded a new branch of pscyhoanalysis based on those two sentences.”

“Freud’s been widely discredited in the field,” Tony grunted, throwing a wadded-up piece of paper at him. “And on top of that, he still won’t stop trying to be nice about it. It’s like he’s got a guilty conscience because he wasn’t nicer or something.”

“Okay. Do you just want to vent and wallow and feel sorry for yourself, or do you really want my opinion on this?”

“Um, yes, in that order. First one might take awhile, though. We should order in. JARVIS, show Bruce some menus.”

“Tony, look.” Bruce sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his nose. “You’re right. There was a baseline level of, I guess we can call it _courtesy_ , there that had nothing to do with you, per se. That’s just Steve being Steve.”

“You’re not making me feel any better, Bruce,” Tony grumbled. “JARVIS, get rid of the menus.”

“Lunch was your idea, Tony,” Bruce reminded him gently.

“Well, I’m taking it off the table.”

“You wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.”

“JARVIS? Menus. Back. Now.” He frowned at Bruce. “Am I seriously being robbed at Hulk-point in my own workshop?”

“Only if you don’t settle down and hear me out.”

“Ugh. Fine. Keep talking.” Tony tipped his chair back and rolled his eyes. “I think you were in the middle of telling me that I could have been the Red Skull and Hitler handcuffed together and Rogers would still have bought me dinner first.”

“Well, that’s an unpleasant mental picture.” Bruce took a deep breath. “Tony, he was worried sick about you. You two don’t get along. He knows you don’t like him--”

“I do not,” Tony burst out.

“What?” Bruce blinked at him.

“I like him just fine,” he huffed. “I mean, yes, he’s annoying, and sanctimonious, and pushy, and a complete killjoy, and--”

“I’m not hearing ‘I like him just fine’ in all that, Tony.”

“Well, I do. Which I think is kind of a big deal, considering how he doesn’t really like me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“He’s always on my case, nothing I do is ever good enough, and I think he’s got an entire lobe of his brain devoted to micromanaging me during fights. Even when he apologized for basically calling me worthless during that whole Chitauri thing, he made sure to do it in front of everybody and make a big production out of it.” 

Tony glared at him, as if daring him to contradict anything he’d said, and started pacing around the lab. It was easier to bristle when he remembered that apology. It had been flashy and public, and he’d even managed to make it sound reasonably sincere. Tony had envied him that as much as he’d envied him anything else, right afterwards. If he could fake sincerity on command like that, he’d never _stop_ doing press conferences. Especially since it wasn’t as if it had been one-sided. Tony had given as good as he’d gotten, and he’d struck a nerve if Steve still remembering it after this long was anything to go by. Tony felt a sharp, unexpected twinge of guilt. What was it he’d said? “Came out of a bottle, remember?” And, well. Tony hadn’t, really. It had just been something ready to hand, because who wouldn’t be a little hung up on going from zero to hero in two minutes flat thanks to somebody else’s work? It was the same way Steve had homed in on the suit, because what had he been before he’d built it? A sitting duck, stuck watching everybody around him get massacred while he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Everybody knew that part of the story. As far as insults went, they’d both been throwing haymakers. He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving and started staring vacantly at what turned out to be a screensaver until Bruce cleared his throat to get his attention.

“I kind of got the impression that he insulted you in front of everybody, so he figured he ought to admit to being wrong about you in front of everybody,” Bruce said softly. Tony snorted, but looked a little subdued. “Anyway, he worries about you. You don’t always listen, and your tactics are showier than he’s used to, and you don’t have a lot of formal training in military tactics, and what we do is dangerous, and he’s lost people he cared about during operations. He’s bad at showing it most of the time, but he does like you, and you scare him when you take risks, and he worries about you. Or at least, that’s my general impression of him.” Bruce shot him a self-deprecating smile. “Your mileage may vary, apparently.”

“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point,” Tony sighed.

“When you got hit with that pheromone weapon, he was definitely, objectively influenced by it being you. Like I was saying, you two don’t get along. You fight, you bicker, you argue, you butt heads. Over _everything_. He at least _thinks_ you don’t like him, even if you’re sure you do. And then suddenly you’re not-begging him to have sex with you and suffering physical side-effects from him not doing it? And SHIELD’s scientists are telling him they aren’t going to be able to reverse it for a week and talking about maybe being able to put you into a medically-induced coma until then if he won’t do it? If it hadn’t been for the time constraints, I think he’d have stolen a jet, gone AWOL, and punched the antidote out of Doom.”

“All that to get out of having sex with me?” Tony grumbled. “Are you _sure_ he doesn’t hate me?”

“Stop being deliberately obtuse, Tony. He felt like Doom might as well have put a gun to your head. And he wasn’t wrong.”

Tony scowled. “Of course he was. I was completely in control of myself the entire time. It wasn’t like I was high or blind drunk. I mean, it wasn’t pleasant, and if I had it to do over again, I definitely would have stayed the hell away from those canisters, but that’s more because I wouldn’t put him through this again if I could avoid it. If I’d really felt like it was beyond the pale, I was perfectly capable of negotiating my medical options with the doctors my damn self.”

“You came off as...a little less in control than that.” Tony scowled at him, and Bruce held up his hands, trying to placate him. “It looked like a valid concern. At the time.”

“It was nice of everyone to be concerned for my well-being, but I was fine. Ish. I’d be a lot better if Rogers weren’t being all weird and trying to talk about how I’m handling everything.”

“Have you considered _letting_ him talk about it? He’s just worried about you.”

“Which is why I told him that I’m fine,” Tony snapped. “How do you feel about Thai? I’m in the mood for Thai. Maybe some pot-stickers, some a red curry, a small mountain of those little dumplings that taste kind of weird but then you can’t stop eating them?”

“That has got to be the least helpful description you’ve ever applied to something while still managing to successfully identify it,” Bruce muttered.

“Is that a yes? Great. JARVIS? Put in the order, and have everything sent straight up once it gets here. Straight to the workshop.” Bruce raised his eyebrows, and Tony made a face at him. “What? The kitchen’s gross, and I don’t feel like cleaning it.”

“The kitchen was cleaned this morning by Captain Rogers and has not been used since,” JARVIS said helpfully.

“The kitchen _seems_ gross, and I don’t feel like getting it past World War II bachelor-barracks levels of cleanliness,” Tony corrected flatly. He flopped into a chair and crossed his arms peevishly.

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS said.

Bruce glanced around the cluttered and variously-grimed surfaces of the shop and let it go.

“Anyway, like I said, I’m fine,” Tony sighed, tipping the chair back and refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yeah.” Bruce grimaced. “See, the thing is that between Natasha ‘accidentally’ internally leaking that memo on palladium poisoning and Pepper talking about, you know, everything you’ve ever done, everyone’s more or less up to speed on you being ‘fine’ possibly meaning anything from you being tipsy to you being terminal. If you let him talk to you about it, he might put a little more stock in you _sounding_ fine with it and _looking_ fine with it than in you just telling him that you’re fine with it.”

“Or, and I think this is the less embarrassing option for everybody, we could all agree to pretend it never happened unless we’re punching Doom in the faceplate, in which case we all just hit him a little harder and everyone will know why but refrain from remarking on it,” Tony suggested, chafing his arms. Bruce suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Maybe we could all pretend it never happened after you talk to Steve about how that’s what you’d prefer to do. At least let him know you’re not traumatized over it. I think he’d calm down and let it go if he was sure that you weren’t suffering any long-term consequences.” Bruce leaned back in his chair. “And...are you that sure you _aren’t_? I mean, if this is affecting your other relationships and your ability to function socially, maybe you should be talking to somebody.”

“I’m talking,” Tony protested. “We’re talking, right now. You and me. Talking.”

“I meant somebody a little more qualified,” Bruce corrected.

“You’re a doctor. Who’s more qualified than that?”

“A doctor with the skill-set and training necessary to be that kind of doctor,” he pointed out. “Is Pepper worried about you?”

Tony tapped his stylus against the table before tossing it into a pile of notes. “A little.”

“Can we define ‘a little,’ just for the purposes of this conversation?” Bruce’s tone was deceptively mild, and he cleaned his glasses with a single-mindedness that kept Tony from being able to catch his expression. 

“Not really, but more than not at all,” Tony said, his face contorting into a sulk. “We talked about it some, right after it happened, and every so often she asks if I’m sure I’m good. So it’s on her radar, but it’s not like after New York, where she grounded me until I talked to a professional about the whole flying into an alien portal with a nuke thing.”

“So she’s more worried than if it was nothing, but less worried than if it was you flat-lining in the line of duty to save millions of people.”

Tony fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well, when you put it like that, it kind of sounds like a meaningless metric.”

Bruce shrugged.

“Ugh.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair. “It was _just sex_. Mindless, pointless sex. I mean, yeah, I get that I was kind of maybe a little fucked up on Doom’s bioweapon. But it’s not like I haven’t done the same and more while really fucked up on Dom Perignon or Johnny Walker or whatever pills that night’s Suzy Goodtimes had in her purse. I mean, this is a matter of public record. Everybody knows this is old hat for me.”

“Recently?” Bruce asked.

“Huh?” Tony blinked at him.

“You’ve done that recently?”

“No, of course not.” He glared. “Doesn’t really fit in with the whole superhero lifestyle, you know? Takes a clear head to kick somebody’s ass when they’ve got a super-charged monofilament electro-whip and are trying to destroy everything you love.”

“So this thing with Steve is kind of like falling off the wagon, in a way.”

“What?” Tony asked. “No. Not in any way whatsoever. For one thing, it’s not like I set out to get wrecked and do something stupid. I mean, yes, flipping that crate open was not the most considered, well-thought-out thing I’ve done recently, but this is absolutely not what I expected to happen as a result. And…”

“And?” Bruce prompted after a minute.

“And. Fuck. I don’t know. Usually when I was doing stupid shit with somebody else before, it was….I don’t know. Everybody who had a ticket to ride knew exactly which train they were getting on.”

“You don’t think Steve knew what he was getting into?”

“I think that’s the understatement of the century,” Tony said sourly, shaking his head. He sighed after a moment and wiped his face on the back of his arm. “I wasn’t kidding about what I said right afterwards. I think...I think I _really_ fucked up. And I don’t think I can fix it. I don’t think this is the sort of thing you can say you’re sorry over. And he keeps trying to talk to me about whether or not I’m okay, but it’s like it’s not even on the radar that he’s got something to complain about. And he’s not sleeping. He’s having nightmares. He’s hitting the gym twice as much as he used to. He’s--” Tony caught Bruce’s look. “What?”

“You know all this how?”

Tony looked down and crossed his arms defensively. “One of JARVIS’s tertiary functions is general welfare monitoring,” he muttered. “He only gives an alert if something’s seriously off.”

“Well. That’s hardly uncomfortable or intrusive at all, then.” Bruce sat back in his chair and sighed. “Tony...have you tried actually telling Steve this?”

“That JARVIS thinks he needs therapy?”

Bruce fixed him with a stern look.

“He hasn’t run screaming from the tower and shoved himself in the nearest walk-in freezer to escape the horrors of the modern era, so what do you think?”

“I think you’re kind of being a drama queen there.” Bruce chewed his lip for a second. “And I think I probably wouldn’t make a joke about walk-in freezers around him, just in case you ever get that urge.”

“Seriously?” Tony grunted. He got to his feet and started pacing again.

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. He didn’t want to talk about it. Just a hunch. But honestly, Tony, you should try telling him this.”

“Where the hell is our food? It feels like we’ve been talking about this for hours. Have we been?”

“More like ten minutes, maybe.”

“Huh. We must’ve fallen into a localized time-space disruption or something.” 

“Tony.”

“How do I even start talking about the whole thing with him, Bruce?” Tony demanded, kicking a desk chair out of his way. Bruce watched it spin into a corner, then gave Tony a level look. “You can’t just march up to someone and say ‘Hey, look, man, I’m sorry I got a faceful of pixie dust and then was a huge asshole in bed, and I’m really sorry if you’re still messed up over it. It’d be real cool if you could start being kind of a jerk about it because then at least we could fight it out and go back to sniping at each other over how much jam is appropriate to put on toast.’”

“I don’t think anyone’s suggesting you say any of that, Tony,” Bruce told him.

“Yeah, but see? That’s me talking. Me talking just makes things worse. Always has, probably always will.” He spread his arms. “There’s a reason my therapist drinks.”

“And you know that you talking to Steve about the pheromones will make things worse because of, what, all the other times this particular thing has happened?” Bruce asked. “Come on. You didn’t plan this. You didn’t do anything to deserve this. This isn’t your fault, and nobody--including Steve, maybe especially Steve--blames you for it. Whatever guilt you’re trying to dodge here...it’s not being laid at your door.”

“This would go a lot faster if you’d just tell me the right answer you clearly know already,” Tony grumbled.

“I don’t know that there’s a right answer,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I just know there’s a better answer than ignoring it and letting it fester until one or both of you does something really, regrettably stupid.”

Tony snorted. 

“More so than usual,” he amended. “I know he’s worried about you, and he wants to know that you’re okay, but that’s not really going to work if you’re not.”

“And I am! I’m fine!”

“Uh-huh.” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, sure.” Tony threw his hands up. “But I’m not that much more not-fine than I was before this whole thing.”

“And you’re worried about him being not-fine.”

Tony slouched against the wall and bit his thumbnail for a few long seconds. “Do _you_ think he’s fine?”

Bruce pursed his lips and looked down at his hands.

“Yeah, that’s about what I figured,” Tony muttered.

“I think,” Bruce said slowly, “that he’s not as messed up over this as you think he is, and I think he could get a better handle on it if he wasn’t so twisted up over whether or not you’re okay.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t break Captain America.”

Bruce rubbed his eyes. “Neither did you.”

Tony paced a bit more, fiddling absently with a screwdriver.

“That your professional opinion as a not-that-kind-of-doctor doctor?” he asked quietly.

“I’d stake my non-existent license to not practice on it.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve tossed and turned, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was reasonably certain he wasn’t going to. It wasn’t the bed; it was him. It had been three weeks, and Tony was definitely, absolutely, no-question-about-it still avoiding him. Once the pheromones had worn off, Tony hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough, and he’d done his damnedest to _stay_ away, and there was no end in sight. Steve thought he could count the number of times he’d even seen Tony outside of training exercises, team meetings, and threat responses since then on one hand. And each and every time he had, Tony had almost jumped out of his skin, then put on his charity-fundraiser smile and made an obvious excuse to be somewhere else, immediately. 

Except for the last time, when he’d tried to comment on the fight they’d just been in, and then Tony had all but bitten his head off. Steve replayed the whole thing in his mind, trying to figure out exactly where he’d gone so terribly wrong. The battle hadn’t been a bad one. It had barely qualified for a response from the Avengers instead of a regular national guard unit, but they’d been closer and better equipped. No fatalities, only a few minor injuries. No one on the team had gotten more than a few scrapes. He’d thought it would be neutral ground, something he could use to start reaching back out. 

Which might, he thought, have been the whole problem. If Tony didn’t want to deal with him at all, it was probably all the more galling if he tried to pretend everything was back to normal while Tony was still reeling from it. Not that the argument had made much sense, but then, it had been clear from the outset that, whatever they were _technically_ arguing about, it wasn’t even in spitting distance of what Tony was _actually_ yelling at him about. Tony had just forgotten to give him the decoder ring. And it wasn’t as if there was anything particularly new about Tony being upset for reasons Steve couldn’t deduce, but at least before the bioweapon exposure, he could yell back relatively confidently. Now? Even trying to disengage had only wound Tony up tighter.

Steve wouldn’t have minded so much if it had at least seemed to do Tony some good. He’d entertained the brief hope once Tony was really on a roll that this meant he was finally getting some of it out of his system. Tony yelling at him meant Tony might be feeling more confident again, might be feeling more like himself. Like he might stop looking at Steve like he expected to be hurt. Then Tony had deflated like a popped balloon, mumbled an apology, and slunk off to his lab, and that had been the end of that fantasy.

Steve rolled over onto his side, folded his pillow in half, and wedged it between his arm and his head. The whole thing was rotten as last week’s garbage. Tony was the one who’d gotten the short end of the stick from start to finish, and he was still getting stuck with it now. He kept insisting that he was fine every time Steve tried to talk to him about it, and he wouldn’t talk to anyone else on the team about it. Whenever he wasn’t off with Pepper, he was holed up in a tiny corner of his own tower. He still hadn’t really been debriefed, and Coulson had had a few pointed questions about that on the last solo mission Steve had volunteered for. Steve grimaced. It wasn’t like he was completely out of options when it came to getting Tony to open up, but there was only so hard Steve was comfortable pushing given how far he’d already intruded. Tony was clearly still smarting over it, and he was just as clearly no longer comfortable dealing with Steve on a personal basis. And meanwhile, he’d just been crossing his fingers and hoping things would get better. It wasn’t fair, and since when did he ignore something like that just because it might cost him?

Another sliver of guilt worked its way through him. He hadn’t been able to keep Tony from getting dosed with the engineered hormone in the first place. He hadn’t been able to resolve the crisis without resorting to sex Tony would clearly have otherwise avoided like the plague. He could at least do something about Tony feeling the need, in his own home, to exile himself from any room that couldn’t be secured against unwanted company. It wouldn’t balance the books, but it might make things a little easier on him. Hell, he should have done it after the first week, when it had become clear that, whatever Tony _said_ , it wasn’t just that he needed a little time and space to work through everything.

Steve kicked the blankets halfway off and checked his alarm. What was done was done, but there was no sense in making things worse. Tomorrow morning, first thing, he’d call Coulson and request a transfer back to base housing. Until then, he could at least try to get some sleep. He just prayed this time if he dropped off, he wouldn’t find himself once again dreaming of Tony, panting and moaning and bucking underneath him, his hands tangled in Steve’s hair and his cock leaking against Steve’s tongue. He’d never felt guilty about wet dreams before, but now, about Tony? He couldn’t stomach his sleeping mind turning that particular encounter into something to be revisited, and it seemed like the more he tried to shake it off, the deeper it cut.

Steve supposed it didn’t help that he’d been shying away from romance since he’d woken up. Tony was the only person he’d been intimate with that he saw on any kind of regular basis anymore. He hadn’t thought he’d have much reason to regret turning down Natasha’s constant attempts to set him up with dates before, but he’d have gone out with all of them if he’d known it would keep something like this from sinking its teeth into him. He hoped like hell that Tony hadn’t twigged to it, but he knew he couldn’t count on it. As smart as everyone thought Tony was, they still had a habit of overlooking how perceptive he could be. If he hadn’t figured it out already, it probably wouldn’t be too long before he did. Steve rolled over and rearranged the pillow. His eyes wandered over the room, tracing the familiar shapes and shadows outlined in the dim glow from the clock and the city’s always-on lights, and the thought of leaving was unexpectedly sharp. 

It was strange, he thought, how quickly the tower had turned into ‘home.’ He’d expected it to be harder than that; home had always meant a person, before. Places came and went with dips in income and increases in rent and too many flights of stairs for TB-ridden lungs to manage and broken radiators that didn’t get fixed until it came time to find a new tenant. He’d never had a chance to get too attached to a set of rooms, and he’d thought it would take a lot longer to get attached to a set of strangers. He sighed. They weren’t strangers anymore, but if he let the situation keep going the way it had been, it would poison the whole team. 

Steve shivered and pulled the sheets back up. First thing tomorrow, he promised himself. He’d make arrangements. Tony could have his life back. They’d salvage as much as they could of things before it got even more out of hand. Eventually everything would go back to normal. He hoped.

*****

“Doctor Banner is looking for you, sir.”

“Tell him I’m testing out a new upgrade on the suit somewhere over Dubai,” Tony grunted, poking at Natasha’s new gauntlets with a screwdriver. It had occurred to him after he’d repaired the old ones, upgraded them twice, and changed out half the components that what she really needed were entirely new ones.

“Doctor Banner is aware that your suits are all currently in their storage bays. It is unlikely that he will be dissuaded by such an obvious lie, sir.”

“Yeah, I know, JARVIS. But he _will_ be dissuaded by the fact that I want to avoid him badly enough to resort to really obvious lies.”

“So there will be no need to disable his passcode to the laboratory?”

“No, you know. Let’s go ahead and do that just in case. Better safe than sorry and all that.” 

Tony put down the bracelets and flexed his fingers. He could just imagine what Bruce was going to say. And well, it wasn’t like Tony hadn’t warned him. There was a reason Fury’s file on him had said yes to Iron Man and no to Tony Stark. He was terrible at apologizing. He was terrible at talking about things. He was terrible at taking criticism. And Rogers acting like he hadn’t learned a damn thing after their last round with Latverian technology had landed right in the middle of that Venn diagram, hadn’t it?

It wasn’t like he _needed_ Bruce to tell him off for being an idiot. He’d realized that on his own before he’d even finished being an idiot. He’d let his frustration get the better of him, and he’d torn into Steve like this was somehow Steve’s fault, and it had taken him something close to an eternity to register that Steve wasn’t arguing back or defending himself or doing anything other than shutting down a little bit at a time, and instead of trying to undo it, he’d rabitted. So, if he was doing an honest inventory of his behavior, he’d been a coward as well as an idiot. He snorted to himself. And people wondered why he wasn’t fond of taking stock of his life. They’d met him. They had to know he did things like this.

And now Steve had decided to move out. Tony stretched his hands and went back to working on the bracelets. It was funny how he could still get a sick, tight feeling his stomach over something that had been practically inevitable. Clint went where Natasha did, and Natasha had been more than happy to keep as close an eye on Tony as humanly possible. Thor had a whole other dimension to keeps tabs on, but he’d always come back to Jane, and it hadn’t exactly been difficult to talk her into using Stark Tower as her permanent address. The only one of them he’d been worried about accepting his offer had been Bruce, who’d only done so gradually, over the course of a few months. He’d just taken Steve’s flat refusal as assumed, and he’d needed a couple of tries to get out the right words when Steve had said yes instead of rolling his eyes and asking if Tony had lost his marbles. 

This wasn’t exactly what Tony had thought would make him change his mind about it. Tony had thought it would be something more along the lines of him constantly changing the settings on the coffee-maker, or having impromptu vampire-movie marathons and inviting half of SHIELD without warning anyone, or swiping all the potatoes to use as test subjects in ill-advised food processor re-designs and forgetting to add more to the grocery order. Being a Congressional-level asshole after traumatizing Steve during sex hadn’t even made the incredibly lengthy list of likely reasons Steve would move out. 

Tony set the tasers down and reorganized his tools. He needed to apologize. He knew he did. He needed to apologize before inertia set in and turned this into their default state of affairs. But if he apologized _now_ , it would just look like he was doing it so that Steve wouldn’t leave, and he knew exactly how effective his baby-don’t-go apologies were. It was, after all, very hard to ignore a zero-percent success rate.

Steve would probably be happier in his own place, anyway. He’d be able to make himself breakfast without feeling some obligation to put on a brave front for Tony’s sake, for one thing. And he could spend more time with normal-people neighbors who did things like potlucks and rummage sales instead of things like setting off the fire alarms at three in the morning by playing with an experimental laser array and a pan of Jiffy Pop. If he was paying rent, he might even see fit to decorate the place or paint--something to indicate that he really _lived_ there--instead of treating it like a hotel room. He might get comfortable, loosen up, meet some people, make some new friends. 

Tony sighed. He didn’t know who he was trying to fool. Sure, Steve would have packed up his things and gotten the hell away from him sooner or later, but it was his fault he was going now, like this. But what was he going to say? That he’d make a valiant attempt not to be such a jerk about things until the next time he let his nagging guilt and overactive defensiveness get the better of him? That he’d move out himself? He already knew how the latter offer would go over, and he had a pretty good idea about the former. He’d just have to figure something out once they’d both settled down.

*****

“Never figured you for a runner, Cap.”

Steve craned his neck. Clint was just barely visible behind one of the potted plants. “How long have you been hiding behind that plant?”

“Since Nat found out I was the one who switched her ringtone for Coulson to ‘Hot for Teacher.’”

“So this is just opportunistic harassment. You haven’t been waiting to ambush me, specifically.” 

Steve didn’t know whether to be grateful or curse his luck. Natasha had already cornered him and intimated both that she had ways of making Tony sit down and talk and that Steve was being an idiot. Thor had been back for all of eight hours before he’d needed to shoot back to Asgard, and he’d still managed to offer his help moving and advise him to take Tony drinking. He’d been able to avoid Bruce for a whole day before he’d found a note stuck under his door. Bruce’s neat, even handwriting had been unmistakable, and it had just read ‘Don’t go. He’ll come around.’ He couldn’t tell if it was as close to an assurance as Bruce could get without getting into something Tony had told him in confidence, or if it was just Bruce’s opinion. So far everybody’s reaction had made it harder to pull up stakes without doing much to change the necessity of it; Tony’s reaction had been radio silence.

“Two birds, one stone,” Clint told him. “You’re not serious about moving back into base housing, are you? This place is awesome.”

“You do remember the difference between cover and concealment, right?”

Clint stuck his tongue out, a flash of pink behind the green. Steve shook his head.

“It turns out there are some things you can’t fix with direct confrontation,” he sighed. “This looks like one of them.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t think of one time Tony’s ever been pissed at somebody where absence made the heart grow fonder,” Clint retorted.

“Can you please come out of there?” Steve asked. “It turns out it’s kind of hard to have a talk like this with a shrub.”

“You should know that, in the event that Natasha sent you to lure me out, I’m not above filling your uniform with itching powder,” he warned.

“I haven’t seen Natasha since last night, when it was her turn to give me this lecture. Did you guys pick numbers out of a hat or something?” Steve frowned. “Though I honestly don’t think you’d do anything that would jeopardize a mission just to satisfy a personal vendetta.”

“Your pajamas, then,” Clint said, sidling out from behind the ficus. “You should let Nat help. She’s even better at shutting down Tony’s tantrums than Pepper is. Probably because Pepper’s never resorted to anything stronger than canceling his credit cards.”

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t a tantrum, and I don’t think the sort of help Natasha offered is the way to go, here,” Steve told him. The last thing he wanted to do right now was make Tony feel any more threatened or vulnerable, and invading his personal space or making it look like the rest of the team was turning on wasn’t exactly the best way to avoid that outcome.

“That was totally a tantrum. The only way you could possibly have missed that being a tantrum is if you just frown and nod and tune him out when he starts ranting. Which, I’ve got to say, is not the best idea. I know it’s tempting, but then you start paying attention again and everything’s on fire and somehow you’re a co-conspirator and Coulson’s threatening to bust you down to guarding the SHIELD parking garage. You really need to stay on point when Tony’s on a tear like that.”

“Clint--” Steve interrupted. Natasha leaned against the archway and cocked her head, listening to him. Steve wasn’t sure how this had become his life.

“Not that Coulson would threaten to do that to you,” Clint continued, his brows furrowing. “I mean, he might. It would depend on how much stuff was on fire, probably. And maybe how expensive or irreplaceable it was. But I think he’s still got kind of a hero-crush on you.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed.

“ _Clint_ \--” 

“The point is that Tony’s first instinct is to run. I mean, when he got sick, he literally threw the company at Pepper to distract her so he didn’t have to talk about it. _Literally_. Do you have any idea how much that company is worth? Hojillions of dollars, Steve. And when that didn’t work, he snuck out of their date and tried to escape in a race car. Again, _literally_. He’s so unbelievably uncomfortable with emotional stuff. Which, yeah, I know. Glass houses, throwing stones, blah blah blah. But you can’t just let him withdraw, unless you’re okay with him never stopping. And moving out practically counts as enabling him.” Clint paused, finally catching Steve’s look. “Right behind me, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded sympathetically.

He turned slowly, a pained grin spreading across his face. “Nat! Have I mentioned lately how incredibly sorry I am for any potential or actual embarrassment I may have caused you?”

Steve backed out of the room quickly and headed for the gym. He could pick up the paperbacks he’d left on the communal bookshelves later, when there weren’t a pair of assassins loudly arguing over their hurt feelings right in front of the bookcase. As tempting as it was to take Clint’s advice seriously, he had to consider the source. Clint didn’t know Tony that much better than Steve did--he’d actually met him a bit later, and he and Tony weren’t particularly close even if Clint did get on exceptionally well with Pepper. And Clint was naturally inclined to come down in favor of his own preferred coping method, which Steve thought bordered on overcompensation. Thrashing around like a bull in a china shop wasn’t a hell of a lot better than giving in to the urge to bolt and not deal with anything when it came down to the results it produced. Though he did have to admit there’d been an admirable thoroughness to Clint making an appointment and showing up with notecards to call Fury a son of a bitch over the helicarrier stunt.

He just didn’t think that approach was going to work with Tony.


	9. Chapter 9

“Don’t you think you should say something?” Bruce asked. 

“If you recall, me saying something is why this is happening,” Tony grunted, running his fingers through his hair.

“He’d probably stay if you asked him to.”

“Rogers is a grown man, Bruce. If he wants to move out, I’m not going to stop him.” Tony’s eyes were glued to the exploded diagram hovering between them, and his expression with vague and distracted. “He wants to pretend everything’s fine, I’m not going to stop that either. He wants to pretend he still trusts my judgment even when it’s totally, painfully obvious he doesn’t, I’m not even going to stop that. Nope. Functional adult. He can do whatever he wants.”

Bruce shrugged. “If you’re okay with Fury getting to decide whether or not we can see him, I guess I’ll defer to your judgment on that one. You’ve been dealing with him longer than I have.”

Tony’s eyes snapped into focus and locked on Bruce’s face. “Come again?”

“Clint said he was moving back onto base.”

“ _What_?”

“I guess it was just easier than trying to navigate the New York housing market? Not to mention he’s still technically active service.”

“He’s moving in with SHIELD,” Tony said flatly, his jaw working. “Not his own apartment. SHIELD.”

“Yeah. I was kind of leery of it since, you know, that means SHIELD checkpoints and SHIELD permitted-persons lists and SHIELD communications networks. Not that I think Fury’s more likely than anyone else in his position to take advantage of that, but like you said before, he’s _the_ spy. I thought it was something to take into consideration.” He shrugged again. “If you don’t see a problem with it, though, I guess I can chalk it up to paranoia.”

Tony muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “star-spangled jackass” before stalking out of the room. Bruce shook his head and chuckled to himself as Tony’s shouted “JARVIS!” echoed back through the closing door.

“Where’s Steve?” Tony growled.

“Captain Rogers is currently inspecting his quarters one last time to ensure that he hasn’t overlooked anything.”

“Keep him there.”

“Could you be more specific, sir?”

“Lock the door and don’t let him out. Pretend to be malfunctioning. I don’t care, just pin him down for a few minutes.”

“May I suggest that committing a felony against the captain is unlikely to make him more receptive to whatever you intend to communic--”

“Mute.”

Tony took a deep breath. If he was quick, Steve might not even notice the felony. He glanced at his reflection in the glass wall. No grease smears, no Einstein hair. Nothing that would make him look completely ridiculous when he stormed into Steve’s living room and tried to put his foot down, apart from the entirety of storming into Steve’s living room and trying to put his foot down. It wasn’t even that he was really that upset by the thought of him leaving the tower-- _really, he wasn’t_ \--because Steve was a grown man, and he could make his own decisions, and he’d be more well-adjusted living around normal people, and everything else he’d told himself for the last few days. 

But there was leaving the tower, and then there was moving back into the agent warehouse he’d been living in before. Nobody had even fucking known he was _alive_ when he’d been living there. And the idea of SHIELD’s head bastard getting to play keep-away with one of his teammates was pushing buttons that he hadn’t known he even had. He could already practically hear Fury apologizing smugly for suspiciously dropped calls and Tony’s name mysteriously being left off the authorized-personnel roster, promising to get right on that in the tone he used when he knew he held all the cards, and then just happening to have proposals Tony didn’t want to read right there for his consideration. Natasha and Clint could usually come and go as they liked, but Bruce wouldn’t be caught dead there, and he was still just a consultant. Pepper and Thor weren’t even in the running.

He made it to Steve’s door in record time. He could hear JARVIS and Steve arguing on the other side of it.

“JARVIS?” he prompted.

“Captain Rogers is having some difficulty with the door, sir. My sensors indicate that it is unlocked, but he is reporting that it refuses to open.”

“Huh. How ‘bout that?” Tony said, suppressing a smile. Clever, indispensable JARVIS. He put on a serious expression and prodded randomly at the panel on the outside of the door. “Tell him to try it now.” The door slid open to reveal Steve carrying a packed duffel bag and wearing a very dubious expression. “I’m a technological wizard. You’re welcome, you’re welcome. No need to thank me. What’s with the bag? You going on a road-trip this close to supervillain season?”

“I’m, um, I’m transferring back to the barracks,” Steve said. “I was under the impression that you knew about it already.”

“The barracks?” Tony buffaloed Steve back into the room, poked his head in, and made a show of glancing around. “You know, if you wanted an upgrade to _barracks_ -level accommodations, you could have just asked. Go ahead and pick out something more to your liking. Maybe not anything currently occupied by a government assassin, just to keep both of us in one piece, but, hell, literally anything else. Get yourself set up.”

“It’s not the room, Tony. The room is fine. Hell, it’s better than fine.”

“Then why are we even having this conversation? Stop being ridiculous and unpack.”

“Tony--”

“Tell Coulson you changed your mind, and then Coulson can have Natasha tell Fury.”

“Tony--”

“I’m pretty sure even Fury doesn’t want to grief Natasha over something stupid like Captain America’s street address,” Tony continued. Steve crossed his arms and tilted his head. “What?”

“Why _are_ we having this conversation?” Steve asked quietly.

“Um, I don’t know, honestly.” Tony shot him a brilliant, jagged smile. “Because apparently somebody has to point out to the Avengers’ tactician-in-chief that moving into one of Fury’s spare gym lockers is a actually a step down from a top-floor suite in Stark Tower? And nobody else has gotten around to it before now? Which is kind of funny, because I know for a fact that JARVIS is programmed to cover that sort of analysis, and I asked him to be a little more proactive about it after that incident with Clint and the blender, so he should have caught this well before now.”

Steve rubbed the side of his face. This was precisely the sort of thing he’d wanted to avoid. Now that Tony was in the argument, he wanted to win the argument, actual consequences of it be damned. Steve had thought he was in the clear; Tony had spent the last week either deliberately not knowing about or at least refusing to acknowledge the transfer request. He wondered what had flipped the switch and sent Tony careening from relief to opposition all of the sudden. He picked his bag back up.

“It’s not the room, Tony,” he said firmly, trying to angle past him.

“Okay. You drive a hard bargain, Rogers.” Tony’s arm shot out, blocking his path. “I’ll have JARVIS make sure we have more of that horrible, boring, healthy stuff you refer to as ‘food’ kept in stock from now on. You can even have wheatgrass around, provided you promise to use a dedicated juicer for it and not slip it into anyone else’s meals when they’re not looking. Now, could you ditch the bag? Bruce, uh, has something to show you down in the lab.”

“I’m not staying, Tony. Whatever Bruce has to show me can wait until the next team meeting.”

“Yes, you are, and no, it can’t,” Tony huffed. “Now, come on. Bag down, ass in gear. Banner-type marvels await.”

“Tony--”

“Look, we both know I’m going to win, so can we just skip right to the end instead of spending the next two hours going ‘Yuh-huh!’ and ‘Nuh-uh!’ at each other?” Steve sighed. He considered it a minor miracle that, as often as Tony said things like that, he still managed to be surprised when they came out of his mouth.

Tony flashed his most charming smile. Steve recognized it as the one he tended to reserve for pretty reporters and angry SHIELD administrators. While his earlier look had at least contained a grain of sincerity, the smile he was looking at now was pure showmanship. 

“This isn’t a debate, Tony,” he snapped. “Would you please get out of my way?”

“Not until you tell me what it is that SHIELD Bunker Number Six has that my tower doesn’t,” Tony challenged, planting himself solidly in the center of the doorway and bracing both arms against the frame. He tilted his head. “Is it the avant-garde all-gunmetal interior? The brutalist aesthetic? The three square bags of agent-kibble a day? The way it always manages to be just a few degrees too cold for everybody, all the time, no matter what the outside temperature it is?”

“It’s the absence of making someone so uncomfortable that they’re reduced to skulking around trying to avoid me in their own home,” he said bluntly, his shoulders slumping.

“You’re not...I’m not...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony sputtered, going from surprised to irritated to mock-ignorance in the space of a breath.

“Next time you repeatedly ask JARVIS to let you know when someone is coming or where someone is, you should probably tell him not to tell that person what he’s doing if they ask him about it,” he pointed out.

“Ha! I _did_! There’s no _way_ he ratted me out.” Tony stopped abruptly. “Except that I just confirmed it right then, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” It was a struggle not to feel triumphant over what was at best a juvenile trick, and Steve focused on the fact that Tony had put out a proximity alert on him.

“Damn it.” Tony scowled for a second, then shook his head. “I’m not avoiding you-avoiding you, though. And I’m not skulking. And I’m _definitely_ not reduced to anything. Can’t we just say I didn’t feel like having a heart-to-heart over the whole Pheromones of Doom thing and leave it at that?”

“Except that you said that, and everybody dropped it, and then you kept acting like I had a restraining order against you.” A normal level of irritation with Tony’s stubbornness was beginning to creep into Steve’s sympathy for his predicament and guilt at having been involved in its construction.

“So you decided to sneak off in the dead of night and not tell anyone?”

“Tony, it’s the middle of the afternoon,” he said. “And I’ve been as upfront about this as possible without throwing myself a house-moving party, which seemed a little...insensitive, given the circumstances. The chore schedule on the fridge has been updated since the request was approved. JARVIS has a reminder to call me a cab. Clint, Natasha, Thor, and Bruce have all acknowledged it one way or another.”

“You hid it from me, though,” Tony accused.

“When would I have told you? You’ve been avoiding me,” Steve reminded him. “And you’ve got your reasons to. I know that. Which is the whole reason I’m going. It’s not fair that you’re the one stuck rearranging your life and your schedule and getting pushed out of your home when you’re not the one who messed up here.”

“It’s not my home, Cap. It’s everybody’s home,” Tony said firmly, leaning in.

“It was your home first,” Steve retorted. “And I’m not having this argument right now. I have a cab waiting.”

“JARVIS, did you call that car?”

“I’m afraid that I have not been able to allocate appropriate system resources to alert the motor pool that Captain Rogers needed transportation. Re-distributing the team’s resources around Captain Rogers’s absence proved unexpectedly memory-intensive.”

“See? All the time in the world,” Tony assured him. Steve frowned and finally let the bag drop. Tony moved out of the doorway and touched the panel. The door slid shut behind him. “So, if I’m not the one who messed up, who did?”

Steve rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe that, of all the times they could have talked about this, Tony wanted to do it now. He wasn’t even close to ready for it. He still felt numb from the sleepless night he’d spent and the reality of leaving the first place he’d felt comfortable since he’d thawed out. Now or never, though, he supposed. He squared his shoulders.

“I should have had your back in that depot, and I didn’t. SHIELD R&D de-prioritized an antagonist that could have cleared that junk out of your system before you needed,” he colored slightly, “physical intervention, based on improperly-assessed intel about how close Doom was to using it. There were a couple of foul-ups along the way, and none of them were yours, but you’re the one living with the consequences.”

“And now you’re going to what, have my back _from a couple of miles away_ , through nine layers of interference from _the same agency that snafu-ed us into this situation_?” Tony asked, gesturing sharply. He took a few steps closer, and Steve fell back a pace warily. “You’re going to have to help me out here, Cap, because I’m not seeing how this is productive even if all your assumptions were true.”

“SHIELD put the Avengers together, Tony. They’re not going to interfere with us responding to a crisis.”

“I don’t think you understand just how _ecstatic_ Fury gets at the opportunity to take my stuff.” Tony closed the distance between them, and Steve backed away until his calves struck up against a chair. He swallowed. Tony getting in his space in public was difficult enough to navigate these days. Tony getting in his space now, with the door closed, was a terrifying prospect. He could practically see the last chance of everything simmering down eventually slipping away, burned off by the look in Tony’s eyes.

“Tony--”

“Not that I really _blame_ him, mind you,” Tony barreled on, resting his hands on Steve’s chest and giving him a gentle shove. Given the choice between pushing back and letting Tony fold him into the chair, Steve reluctantly let himself be manhandled. “I mean, I do have all the best stuff.”

“Can you be serious for one minute, here?” Steve demanded. His heart was hammering away against his ribcage, and Tony was far too close for comfort. He kept waiting for Tony’s bravado to slip, for the least twitch from him to send Tony right back into the painfully easy startle response he’d shown for the past few weeks.

“I’m being completely and utterly serious.” Tony braced his hands against the arms of the chair, boxing him in. “You’re staying right here, and Fury can suck on it.”

“You don’t even actually want me here, remember?” Steve shook his head and avoided Tony’s eyes. “And look, I don’t blame you, if that’s what you think. I get it. I knew it was a risk when I agreed to help with the pheromone problem. I’m sorry I handled things badly. You have every right to be angry about the situation. Just...can we stop trying to pretend that everything’s normal? It’s not working. I’m making you uncomfortable, and I hate seeing you like that over something I did. If I move out for a while, it might not help much, but at least you’ll be able to eat a damn meal in peace.”

Tony took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You don’t blame me.”

Steve frowned and risked a glance at him. The tone of Tony’s voice had him considering the other ways his statement could have been taken, but the look on the man’s face was one of relief. 

“Of course I don’t blame you,” he said sharply. “But I think that may have come out wrong. I don’t--” 

“I pretty much assaulted you, and you’re leaving because _you_ don’t want to make _me_ uncomfortable.” There was an edge in Tony’s voice.

“You didn’t do anything of the sort,” Steve protested.

“I didn’t rip your clothes off, use you like a sextoy, and then not even make sure you had a good time?” Tony demanded.

Steve flushed uncomfortably. “That is, uh. That’s a grossly uncharitable version of events. You didn’t do anything I wasn’t okay with.”

“Really.” Tony’s eyes bored into his.

“Yes, really,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “Jesus, Tony. What do I need to do, say it in French?”

“Me not doing anything you weren’t okay with is why you looked like you wanted to crawl into a hole and die after I had sex with you?” Tony asked.

“That is not how I looked,” Steve said hotly, “and even if I did, it had a lot more to do with the way _you_ looked like you’d just swallowed a bug than anything we did.”

“I did not!” Tony paused. “Okay, maybe I did. But it wasn’t because of you.”

Steve snorted and looked away again. He’d thought he couldn’t feel worse about everything, and now Tony was trying to blame himself, and this wasn’t how he’d wanted to figure out he’d been wrong about not feeling worse.

“What, you always look like that after you come?” he sighed, his stomach twisting. “I get that I’m the last person you’d ever screw given a choice in the matter, Tony. Believe me, I get it. And I don’t need you to try pretending otherwise after the past month. I just...I need you to have a real chance at getting your bearings back.”

Tony leaned forward and kissed him, then slid into his lap, his knees settling between the chair and Steve’s thighs. Steve felt his heart skip a beat, and he froze, trying to formulate some response beyond pushing Tony away and fleeing.

“Please get off me, Tony,” Steve muttered, blushing furiously and looking anywhere but Tony’s face. “This isn’t necessary to--”

“Not until you call Coulson and tell him you changed your mind,” Tony growled.

“I’m not--” 

He gasped as Tony bowed his head and kissed his neck, letting his tongue glide over the skin before he pulled away. Tony ground against him, and Steve grabbed his at hips frantically, forcing him to a halt.

“I need you to stop screwing around and get off me,” Steve repeated firmly, his breath coming faster. Of all the responses he’d expected from Tony, this hadn’t even been on his radar. If he got out of this without making everything ten times worse, he’d count himself lucky.

“Really? Because from the feel of it, you need me to stop screwing around and get you off,” Tony shot back. “God, you really were into it, weren’t you? All this time I’ve been beating myself up over it and--”

He broke off, laughing.

“What the hell is going on here, Tony?” Steve asked tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he laughed. There was a hysterical note to it that made Steve want to hold him close and comfort him, but he was too out of his depth to risk it. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jackass. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry I didn’t just talk about it. I thought...wow, I feel like an idiot now.”

“Want to clue me in, then? Because I’m kind of still feeling like one.”

“I felt like a real asshole because of how I acted while I was all wound up on that bioweapon. I mean, I _was_ a real asshole. You don’t even like me, and then you were stuck letting me fuck you, and I didn’t even have the decency to give you a reach-around.” Tony flushed and cleared his throat. “And then you were being so _understanding_ about it, and you were still hot as hell, and I felt even worse. I really, really didn’t mean to make you feel like anything you did fucked me up. It didn’t.”

Steve stared at him.

“Okay, maybe say something now? So I don’t start thinking I just hit the nail right on the head, and you’re going to strongly reconsider being okay with everything, and now I’ve just made it way worse?”

“Jesus, Tony.” Steve slumped back. “You were about as decent as could be expected, given how that aerosol was affecting you. I was worried that you, uh, were panicking because it was me. I know I haven’t exactly been the easiest guy to get along with since, um, since we first met, really. Once you started changing everything around and evacuating rooms to avoid me….I didn’t want to put you through that.”

“How are you even real?” Tony groaned, propping his elbows on the back of the chair.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you about this since it happened, Tony,” he said gruffly, lowering his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to talk about it. I’ve got a short list of things I’m actually not fantastic at, and talking about stuff tops it. Then you had to go and make some sort of grand gesture, and apparently if I don’t throw all my cards on the table right now, I’m going to be either sneaking past SHIELD security, which I’m also not super-great at.” Tony kissed the other side of his neck, making him squirm. “So, cards on the table.” 

Tony dropped his hands to Steve’s chest. Steve made a small noise in the back of his throat, and his grip on Tony’s hips loosened. 

“I want you to take off your clothes, get on the bed, fuck my brains out, put all your stuff away, and stop being ridiculous.” Tony settled down more firmly on Steve’s lap and rocked his hips in a slow, tight circle. He could feel the erection straining at Steve’s slacks. “In that order.”

“What--?” The word was lost in a groan as Tony pressed a kiss to his lips. After a long moment, he leaned back and took Steve’s face in his hands.

“The first four are non-negotiable, but we can haggle over the last one if you come up with something good on counter-offer.”

Steve felt like he’d fallen off a cliff he hadn’t known was there prior to stepping over it. “I don’t understand.”

“That might be a problem, because I’m not sure I can get any simpler than ‘I want to have sex.’ I mean, I’m pretty sure I can get clearer, but we’d need to adjourn to the conference room, and I’d have to find a laser pointer.” 

“You’ve been hiding from me for a month--” Steve began.

“I have not been hiding from you,” Tony interrupted.

“You’ve been hiding from me for a month,” Steve repeated grimly, “and now all of the sudden, you want me to have sex with you.”

“I’ve only been hiding from you because I was guilt-ridden about debauching you. And in my defense, it really feels like you want to have sex with me, too. I mean, at least part of you,” he slid his hips further up Steve’s lap, “is on board with this plan.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat even further. Every inch of his skin was tingling with the way Tony was pressed against him, and just Tony’s weight across his thighs was enough to have him ready to go. But he was keenly aware of the way everything he’d thought about where they were at with each other had just been turned on its ear, and Tony’s eyes were glittering in a way he couldn’t remember seeing outside of them having just pulled off a win against superior forces with the odds against them. They were both grasping at straws.

“This is a bad idea, Tony,” he told him, his voice soft.

“It’s a great idea,” Tony countered. “Look, it’s not like me hiding from you for a month--which I totally have not been doing--and me wanting to have sex with you again--which I totally do want to do--are mutually exclusive. I mean, trust me, I’ve really, really, _really_ wanted to have sex with you again for like ninety percent of that month. And the other ten percent has been spent sleeping.” He paused, chewing his lip. “I just kind of also felt like a complete monster for wanting to have sex with you again, given the circumstances. So acting on it was a little out of the question.” His smile fading into something gentle. “It doesn’t have to be a bad idea, you know. It could just be you and me having a bit of fun. No biological imperatives. No ticking clocks. No team of observation-deck boner-killers. No unexpected curve-balls from biological weapon exposure. Just something we both want to do, for as long as we want to do it, and then back to normal afterwards. How does that sound?”

“Like a pipedream,” Steve told him.

“Yeah, maybe the part about everything going back to normal is,” Tony admitted. “But the rest of it doesn’t have to be, and that’s the part I’m most interested in right now.” He slid his hands up Steve’s biceps and let them come to a rest on his shoulders. “Think maybe we could give it a try? Not to put too fine a point on it, I’m pretty sure I owe you a few orgasms.”

Steve laughed and closed his eyes. His chest felt hollow, and there was an ache settling in behind his eyes. “You really want to do this.”

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re incredibly hot. I’ve mentioned that before, right? You’re really hot? And okay, I get that I’m maybe not exactly what you look for in a teammate, never mind a sex partner, but I’m here and willing and normally pretty damn thorough, if I do say so myself.” Tony cocked his head, and his lips twitched upward in a soft, seductive smile. Steve remembered that one from a magazine cover, and Steve realized the ache wasn’t just behind his eyes.

“Director Fury was right to tap you for the Avengers, Tony,” Steve said quietly. “I meant it when I apologized for what I said on the helicarrier when we first met. You’re a hell of a lot more than the suit.”

Tony blinked at him, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed to say something. “It’s not...I’m…”

Steve gently guided him off his lap and back onto his feet. “And you’re not exactly hard on the eyes, yourself.”

“I knew it.” Tony seized on the compliment, his relief palpable. “You think I have a great ass, don’t you? And arms? And like, this whole package here.” He gestured to his face and shot him a cheesy grin. “I’m irresistible. It’s practically a curse--”

Steve stretched up and kissed him, wrapping his arms around his waist and keeping him steady. Tony licked at Steve’s lower lip and nudged his mouth open, then slid their tongues together as soon as Steve’s teeth parted.

“Mmm.” Tony relaxed against him, letting himself settle against Steve’s chest as they kissed. “I was so sure you’d hate me. I was so sure I’d messed you up.”

“Even if I’d just been lying back and thinking of England, you’re not the one I’d be mad at,” Steve said firmly, running his hands over Tony’s spine. “I really thought this had cut you off at the knees. You seemed to freeze up every time I was around.”

“Just keep doing that for maybe a few more minutes, and I’ll never freeze up around anything again,” Tony murmured. “You know, I was serious about wanting to have sex. I get it if you don’t want to, but that wasn’t just me grandstanding.”

“What about Pepper?”

“Openish relationship. She’s pre-authorized everybody on the team except for Natasha and Coulson, with the provision that none of it happen in any sort of public or semi-public venue.”

“Everyone except Natasha and Coulson?” Steve asked. The whole conversation still had a surreal air to it, but for some reason that was standing out as more ridiculous than anything else.

“If I ruin things with either of the two spa buddies she has who definitely won’t try to sell her on a business proposal while they’re supposed to be relaxing, she will end me,” Tony explained. “Not that I’d try anything with Phil anyway. We bang once, and suddenly all future threats of tasering just get weird.”

Steve bit his lip and tried not to laugh. He’d gone from feeling colder than he had since before Fury had showed him the helicarrier for the first time to feeling like an enormous weight had slid from his shoulders. He was light-headed with it, and he needed to get his breath back before he did or said something monumentally foolish. He sank back onto the chair.

“Why don’t we have this conversation in a few days?” Steve asked. “I’ll let Coulson know I won’t be transferring after all, and I’ll unpack. You can drag all your toys back out into the common areas for everybody to trip over again. Let’s just take a little while and, I don’t know. Get ourselves back together.”

“I’m as together as I get,” he protested.

“And if you change your mind by then, no harm, no foul,” Steve added, as if he hadn’t heard him.

“I’m not going to,” Tony muttered, curling against him. “God, you have no idea how nuts I’ve been driving myself.”

“I think I’ve got some idea,” Steve said, shaking his head.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve turned on the lights and started when he saw Tony sprawled out on his couch. 

“Tony?” he asked.

“Hey.” Tony stretched and yawned. “It’s been a couple of days.”

“I see,” Steve snorted, letting his lips curl up slightly. Trust Tony to be subtle as a repulsor blast.

“So I thought I could drop by with pizza and beer, and we could see where things went from there. And then it turns out your couch is _way_ more comfortable than mine, which seems vaguely unfair since I don’t think you use yours much, and I may have taken a short nap.”

“And now the pizza’s cold, the beer’s warm, and we should probably just skip right the seeing where it goes?” Steve laughed.

“The pizza’s in the oven with the heat turned on low, the beer’s in the fridge, and I’m absolutely amenable to just skipping both of them and dragging you straight to bed.” Tony cleared his throat. “Assuming, of course, you haven’t come to the conclusion that the last thing you ever want is me touching you again.”

“That’s not exactly the conclusion I’ve come to, no,” Steve said softly, dropping to one knee next to the couch. Tony grinned and stretched again.

“Your couch really is insanely comfortable. We don’t even have to move this to the bedroom, if you don’t want.” He pushed himself up on one elbow and brushed a kiss over Steve’s lips.

“It’s comfortable, but it’s a little narrow,” Steve pointed out. He leaned forward and deepened the kiss. The last few days had felt like a thaw after a hard winter. Tony had been relaxed and open instead of gunshy and tense, and they’d even wound up bickering over the best way to configure the training schedule without it getting out of hand.

“That doesn’t seem to be much of a problem to me,” Tony said, smirking. He tugged Steve up and prodded him until he was stretched out over him. “Just don’t squish me, Rogers.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Stark,” Steve murmured. He kept most of his weight supported on his elbows and knees while he kissed Tony’s throat. Tony squirmed a little under him, then tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair and guided Steve’s lips back to his own.

“I feel like we definitely skimped on this last time,” he said.

“There were a few other priorities to consider,” Steve reminded him. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the way Tony seemed to flinch away from anything approaching an honest assessment of his character, but then, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Tony waited until he was sure Steve had committed to the kiss, then curled his fingers around the bottom of Steve’s t-shirt and peeled it up. He let his fingers skim over Steve’s skin for a few minutes, then tugged at the fabric peremptorily. Steve sat back with a laugh and stripped it off the rest of the way, leaving Tony free to run his hands over Steve’s bare shoulders.

“You are just so utterly, completely gorgeous,” Tony breathed. His fingertips traced the curve of Steve’s neck, then ran down his back. His eyes were soft and dark, and a look of gentle affection had settled onto his face.

Steve swallowed. It had been a damn long time since someone had looked at him like that. He cupped Tony’s jaw and kissed him long and slow.

“Kind of a looker yourself,” he said, managing a lopsided grin when they finally broke apart. “Pretty sure some of those fashion spreads were onto something, you know.” 

Tony snorted and rolled his eyes. Steve reached up and brushed Tony’s dark hair out of his face, then kissed him again. He sat up carefully, balancing against the cushions so that he didn’t shove Tony off the couch or wedge himself against the frame, and slid his hands under Tony’s soft cotton button-down.

“I could leave the shirt on, if you want,” Tony offered quickly, his hands curling around Steve’s wrists.

“Why would I want that?” Steve asked. “I mean, if you’d rather, that’s fine, I don’t mind. I just--”

“You seemed a little weirded out by the arc reactor, last time,” he said, flushing. “I mean, obviously, it’ll still be there, but if I leave the shirt on, at least you won’t see it.

“Did I? I wasn’t.” Steve looked down, his eyes on the strong, agile fingers encircling his wrists. “It’s actually kind of beautiful.”

“You kept looking away,” Tony reminded him.

“Oh, that.” It was Steve’s turn to blush. “I didn’t really feel like I had the right to look. It’s not like you were falling into bed with me of your own accord. It seemed like the fewer, uh, liberties taken, the better.”

“Liberty taken here meaning ‘seeing me naked’?” Tony asked, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.

“Meaning ‘openly ogling you’.” Steve shrugged, his hands settling on Tony’s knees. “Tony, I’d never even seen you barefoot or shirtless before then. It wasn’t something you seemed comfortable with. Since it wasn’t strictly necessary to shake off the pheromones, I thought, you know, maybe I should keep my eyes to myself if I could.”

“Jesus, Steve.” Tony was staring at him, his face unreadable.

“Not that I did the greatest job of it. At all. But….” Steve pushed his hair back and gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I know. It sounds kind of stupid, saying it out loud like that. Like there’s a way to have sex and keep any sort of physical privacy.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like the reactor was strange or anything.”

"You are unbelievable sometimes." Tony exhaled slowly and pushed himself up. “I, um. I think we should actually go for a real bed. Come on?”

He reached for Steve’s hand, then led him toward the bedroom. He stripped off his shirt on the way, tossing it over a chair as soon as they were in the room. When he turned, his eyes were fixed on Steve’s face, waiting for his reaction. Steve smiled and kissed him before gathering him into a gentle hug.

“You do realize that you’re calling me unbelievable when one of your most time-consuming hobbies is building flying suits of armor, right?” Steve asked.

“Well, yeah, but I’m still kind of a prick while I’m doing that,” Tony pointed out, his voice slightly muffled against Steve’s chest. “Whereas you’re just unbelievably good, all the damn time.”

“I’m not _that_ good, Tony. I try, but I’m human. I screw up sometimes. More than sometimes, if certain parties are to be believed.”

“Hey, now,” Tony said. “Natasha only busts your chops because she wants you to be all that you can be.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head before leaning down to kiss him again. Tony responded fiercely, catching him around the waist and shoulder and kissing him hard. Steve moved them toward the bed, and Tony’s hands strayed to his fly.

“Off?” he asked, tugging at the waistband. Steve snorted.

“You’ve waited three days,” he pointed out.

“And another second might kill me, so _off_.”

“And here I was thinking that you being bossy in bed was just a side-effect of those synthetic hormones.”

Tony scowled at him. “I’m not bossy, I’m goal-oriented.”

Steve laughed and shucked his jeans, and Tony’s expression softened.

“Never get sick of that,” he muttered, stripping off the rest of his clothes. “Not in a million years.”

Steve glanced at him, then relaxed a little and let himself look his fill. It wasn’t just that Tony was beautiful--he was--but that he was so confident, so comfortable in his own skin, so _alive_. He practically glowed with it. Tony flushed and bit his lip.

“I kind of feel like you’re going to ask if you can draw me like one of your French girls.”

“Should I?” Steve asked, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’re beautiful. If you think you could sit still long enough, I’d like that a lot.”

“Oh my god, it was a joke. And of course I could sit still that long. How is that even something you’d have to ask?” Tony pouted.

“Really?” Steve closed the distance between them and slid his hands over Tony’s hips. “You can’t go more than a few minutes without fidgeting on a good day.”

“Only if I’m doing something incredibly boring. You’ll note I’m not fidgeting right now.” Tony rested his hands on Steve’s chest, almost experimentally. “God. Seriously, _how are you real_?”

“Miracle of modern engineering,” Steve told him, dipping his head to kiss Tony’s throat. Tony shivered against him and took a deep breath.

“I think I might owe you a little bit of an--ah!” Tony hissed when Steve’s tongue found an especially delicate stretch of skin.

“You don’t owe me anything, Tony.”

“Jesus, Steve.” Tony sighed and let his head fall against Steve’s chest. “Just get on the bed and let me suck your cock.”

“Well, how could a guy say no to a silver-tongued gentleman like you?” Steve asked, trying not to laugh. He sat back on the bed and drew Tony to him.

“You’re the one making it weird.” Tony herded him toward the center of the mattress, and Steve kissed him gently. Tony ran his hand over Steve’s chest and pressed him down, then dropped his hand to Steve’s cock.

Steve gasped and arched a little, and Tony grinned. He stroked him, slow and light, and drank it in when Steve grunted and twisted almost off the bed.

“Seriously, though,” Tony said softly, kissing his way down Steve’s chest. “You seemed a little put off by it before. Can I?”

“ _Please_ ,” Steve hissed, his fingers digging into the sheets as Tony’s hand closed around his shaft.

Tony smirked at him and nipped the skin over his hip. “That’s more like it, Cap.”

Steve closed his eyes and whimpered when Tony’s tongue flicked over his glans, hot and wet and just the right side of teasing. The hand on his thigh was firm and grounding, and the hand gently cupping his balls was a promise of more, and Steve felt the last lingering bit of fear start to melt. When Tony licked a broad stripe up his cock, it was hard not to lift his hips and try for an extra second or two of contact.

“You like that, don’t you?” Tony asked, nudging his knees farther apart. Steve’s eyes flickered open.

“I’ve got a better poker face than I thought if you can’t tell,” he muttered.

“It’s called positive reinforcement,” Tony said, circling his over Steve’s entrance. Steve shivered, and Tony grinned at him. “If you want more of something, you praise the person doing it for you.”

Any retort he could think of was cut off at the roots when Tony settled between his thighs and took his entire length into his mouth in one smooth motion. Steve forced himself to remain still, and it was all he could do not to lose himself in the light scent of Tony’s cologne, and the warmth of Tony’s body resting against his legs, and the firm slickness of Tony’s tongue working along his cock.

Tony watched Steve’s face as his expression relaxed, and a brief flutter of uncertainty made his spine stiffen. He hadn’t thought much beyond wanting Steve, and now that Steve was sprawled under him and panting and groaning just from the warm-up, Tony found it difficult to imagine what would follow afterwards. Steve made a sharp noise in the back of his throat, and his brows furrowed.

“Move, Tony, please, I’m coming--”

He pulled off and began stroking Steve’s cock, trying not to lose the rhythm he’d set when he’d been sucking him. Steve grunted and arched under him, then came with a soft gasp.

“Holy hell,” he whispered, rubbing his forearm over his eyes.

“Told you you’d like it. And just for future reference, the warning’s nice, but I prefer to finish what I start, assuming you’re cool with it.” 

Tony wiped his hands off on a kleenex and tossed it into the wastebasket before turning back to him. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Steve lying across the bed, completely at ease and practically glowing. Between the early evening light filtering in through the window, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, and the softness of a body Tony was used to seeing tense and ready for action, he looked almost like an angel. Tony swallowed hard. He had no idea how, but he suddenly knew he was going to ruin everything.

“You coming back to bed?” Steve asked, moving his arm and shooting Tony a curious look. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Tony shook himself. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

He climbed across the mattress and curled close to Steve, who wrapped an arm around him and started kissing him again.

“Can we just, I don’t know, cuddle for the rest of this?” Tony asked after a few seconds.

Steve frowned, glancing from the hard cock pressing against his thigh to Tony’s flushed face and dark eyes. “Sure, if that’s what you want. Are you positive you’re okay?”

“I just really don’t want to screw this up,” he blurted.

“Oh.” Steve laughed softly, then kissed his forehead. “If it’s any comfort, I’m pretty sure we couldn’t possibly do any worse than the past month has already been. Not without trying, anyway.”

“That actually is kind of weirdly comforting,” Tony said, frowning.

“So, you want me to take care of that?” he asked, shifting his leg so that Tony’s cock slid along his skin a little. Tony shuddered against him and gasped softly.

“I don’t want to let go,” he confessed, closing his eyes.

“Just hand me the bottle from the drawer there,” Steve said after a moment. “I think you can have both.”

Tony reached across the bed and fumbled awkwardly with the drawer until he found the bottle. He shoved it into Steve’s hand and then wrapped his arms around Steve’s back and nuzzled his neck.

“You really are gorgeous, you know that?” Tony muttered, sucking at his throat.

“So I’ve been told.” Steve squirted a generous dollop of lube onto his palm and let it warm against his skin. After a few seconds, he slicked his fingers, slipped his hand between them, and curled his hand around Tony’s cock.

“Jesus!” Tony hissed. He thrust against him a few times, adjusted his grip on Steve’s waist, and started again. 

Steve grunted when Tony’s teeth pinched the soft skin of his neck, and Tony huffed and nipped at his collarbone instead. When Steve stroked down the curve of his back and over his hip, Tony shuddered and thrust harder.

“Just hold me tighter,” he grunted, his face contorting in something almost like pain. “I need to feel like you’re here, like you’re with me, come on, Steve, just a little more…”

Steve tilted his head so that he could kiss him again, and Tony pushed his tongue into his mouth, his need frantic and uncoordinated and just as rough as his thrusts were becoming. Steve held him more firmly, his fingers kneading Tony’s ass, and Tony’s nails dug into his back hard enough to sting. Tony climaxed in a long, drawn-out spasm, then relaxed as if he’d come unspooled in Steve’s arms. He sighed and settled against Steve’s chest as he came back to himself.

“Mmm. This was a good idea,” he murmured.

“You’ve had worse,” Steve agreed, smiling.

Tony nipped him. “My ideas are ranked from ‘awesome’ to ‘pretty good.’ There’s no such thing as my worse ideas.”

“We’ll leave that argument for another time.”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Tony grunted. “And that you smell good. And that you’re warm. And that you’re tooth-rottingly nice all the time.”

“Where was all this sweet talk when you were trying to get me naked?” Steve laughed.

“Hmph.” Tony wriggled out of his arms. “Why don’t you take a quick shower? I’ll get the pizza and the beer, and we can eat in here.”

“Is this just so you can see if I’ll kick you out of bed over crumbs?”

“Well,” Tony grumbled, “not anymore.”

Steve kissed him softly. “What happened to wanting me to hold you?”

“You spoiled the mopey, needy mood when you made me come,” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. “Now, seriously. Go. And make it quick. I’m not waiting to start on the pizza, and I can’t remember the last time I ate, and if you come back to an empty box, don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Steve shot him an affectionate, exasperated look and then disentangled himself fully. “Five minutes.”

“I’ll be timing you.”

*****

Steve rolled onto his side, settling back into the spot he’d vacated for a moment when Tony twitched and reached for him. The empty pizza box was on the floor, along with a pair of beer bottles and the paper towels Tony had grabbed to use as napkins. Steve shook his head and gently brushed Tony’s hair off his forehead, trying not to wake him. Once he’d gotten some food in his belly, Tony had been out like a light.

Steve smiled and threw his arm over Tony’s ribs, careful not to get too close to the arc reactor or the scar tissue around it. Tony murmured something unintelligible and covered Steve’s hand with his own before drifting back to sleep. Steve held him close, shut his eyes, and just listened to the peaceful sound of Tony’s breathing. Knowing Tony, it was just a brief respite, but he’d take it. They could get back to bickering and misunderstanding each other and talking past each other tomorrow. For now, they could have this and at least know they had enough common ground to stand on.


End file.
